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A  Princess 

of  Paris. 


ARCHIBALD    CI        \  RJ          HUNTER 


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A  PRINCESS  OF  PARIS 


a 


BY 


ARCHIBALD    CLAVERING    GUNTER 


AUTHOR    OF 


MR.  BARNES  OF  NEW  YORK,'    "MR.  POTTER  OF  TEXAS, 
"THAT  FRENCHMAN,"  "  MISS  NOBODY  OF  NOWHERE," 
"MISS  DIVIDENDS,"  "BARON  MONTEZ, "  ETC.,  ETC. 


NEW   YORK 
THE    HOME    PUBLISHING    CO. 

3  EAST  FOURTEENTH  STREET 
1894. 


COPYRIGHT,  1894, 
BY  A.  C.  GUNTER. 

A II  rights  reserved. 


THE  WINTHROP  PRESS, 

52-54    LAFAYETTE    PLACE, 

NEW  YORK. 


8TOA9 

rjt. 


CONTENTS. 

BOOK  I. 

COMRADES   OF    THE    SWORD 


PAGE 


CHAPTER           I. — The   Lone  Bastion  at  Friburg,  5 
II. — The  Annals  of  a  Soldier  of  Mis- 
fortune,                                   -  19 
"              III.— The  Duel  by  the  Camp  Fire,      -  30 
«               IV.— Uncle  Johnny,                               -  41 
V.— The  One  Chance  of  Life,  54 
VI. — The  Mouse  and  the  Lion,          -  64 
"             VII. — Look  for  All  Things  in  Paris,     -  76 


BOOK  II. 

THE    SPECULATION    IN    BEAUTY. 

CHAPTER     VIII. — Cousin  Charlie,  -     89 

IX. — Poisson  the  Liar,      -  -   102 

X. — The  Lieutenant  of  Police,          -   113 

XI. — The  Pie  of  the  Prince  de  Conti,    123 

2061811 


4  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER     XII. — The  Elopement  from  Des  Capu- 

cmes,  -   135 

XIII.— The  Siren's  Song,  -   142 

"  XIV. — A  French  Lochinvar,  -   151 


BOOK  III. 

A    PRINCESS    OF    PARIS. 

CHAPTER       XV. — The  Birth  of  Modern  Paris,  -   160 

"            XVI.— De  Conti's  Little  Joke,  -171 

"          XVII.— The  First  Bal  de  1'Opera,  -   180 

"        XVIIL— "A  Note  To-Morrow!"  -  -   191 
"            XIX.— The     Second    Honeymoon    of 

O'Brien  Dillon,  -  203 
Dillon  at  Home,  -  215 
XXL— The  First  Masse  Shot   at   Bil- 
liards, -  223 
XXII. — A  Night  at  the  Francais,  -   232 
XXIII.— The  Friend  of  the  Army,  -   248 
XXIV. — The  Water  Fete  at  Marseilles,    259 
XXV.— "Together!"            -         -  -  268 


A  PRINCESS  OF  PARIS 

BOOK  I. 
COMRADES  OF  THE  SWORD. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE    LONE    BASTION  AT   FRIBURG. 

"MONSIEUR  LE  COMTE,  how  many  of  us  will  come 
back  ?"  whispers  Lieutenant  d'Essais. 

"  About  our  usual  proportion — one  out  of  two.  The 
regiment  of  Laval  is  always  lucky,"  laughs  Raymond 
d'Arnac,  as  he  looks  into  the  blindness  of  anight  opaque 
as  chaos. 

But  in  this  darkness,  he  knows  straight  in  front  of 
him  lie  the  fortifications  and  strong  works  of  the  little 
town  of  Friburg,  manned  by  the  German,  crowned  with 
cannon  and  laden  with  death. 

These  works  consist  of  walls  of  unusual  thickness, 
pierced  by  four  sortie-gates,  eight  heavy  bastions  with 
liemi-lunes  protecting  their  curtains,  and  the  usual  cov- 
ered-ways, escarpments  and  glacis  peculiar  to  the  method 
of  fortification  invented  by  that  first  great  master  of  artil- 
lery  attack  and  defense,  Monsieur  Vauban,  the  French 
Engineer. 

Beyond  the  walls  are  the  mediaeval  streets  of  the  little 
town  of  Friburg,  and  half  a  mile  away,  back  of  these,  the 
great  mountain  of  Schlossberg,  upon  whose  terraces,  and 
dominating  all  below  them,  stand  four  great  forts; 
first,  the  Castle,  which  commands  the  whole  town; 
above  it,  the  Eagle  Fort,  which  dominates  the  Castle; 
higher  up,  the  Star  Fort,  which  commands  the  Eagle, 


6  A      PRIXCKSS     OF      PARIS. 

and  crowning  the  summit,  the  Fort  of  St.  Peter,  which 
dominates  them  all.  On  the  terraces  of  this  mountain 
are  military  works  contrived  after  the  best  possible  man- 
ner to  resist  1  ho  escalade  and  bombardment  of  that  epoch 
— the  year  of  our  Lord  1713. 

Within  this  series  of  strongholds  is  a  garrison  of 
fifteen  battalions  of  stout  Austrian  infantry  and  five 
hundred  semi-barbarous  Hungarian  horse.  The  whole 
commanded  by  Baron  de  Arsch,  one  of  the  sturdiest 
commanders  of  that  stout  time — the  entire  affair  making 
one  of  the  hardest  military  nuts  M.  le  Due  de  Villars, 
the  Commander  in  Chief  of  his  most  Christian  Majesty 
Louis  XlVth's  armies  on  the  Rhine  and  in  Flanders, 
ever  had  to  crack. 

Above  all  the  thing  must  be  done  quickly,  for  just  in 
the  distance  are  the  mountains  of  the  Black  Forest, 
famous  in  legend  and  story,  and  beyond  them  lies  Prince 
Eugene,  Generalissimo  of  the  German  armies,  biting 
his  nails  with  rage,  and  sending  courier  after  courier  to 
ride  their  horses  to  death,  imploring  his  Imperial  Master 
of  Austria  to  hurry  the  troops  en  route  from  Italy  to 
re-inforce  him;  and  post  after  post  to  the  States  General 
and  the  Princes  of  tire  German  Empire,  begging  and 
beseeching  they  will  keep  their  promises  of  men  and 
money  so  he  can  take  open  field  against  his  old  enemy 
De  Villars,  and  not  see  pass  from  him  by  forced  inactiv- 
ity and  lack  of  men,  the  conquests  he  had  so  gloriously 
made  in  succeeding  campaigns  together  with  Church- 
hill,  Duke  of  Marlborough,  and  the  English  Army  at 
Blenheim,  Ramillics  and  Oudenarde  over  the  French. 

Tliis  town  of  Friburg  DeVillars  has  been  attempting  for 
the  last  thirty  days,  carrying  his  trenches  forward,  estab- 
lishing his  batteries  and  places  d\i  nnes,  and  battering  with 
siege  artillery  the  stout  walls,  in  front  of  him,  until  this 
evening,  the  breach  of  Fort  Escargo,  the  first  bastion, 
is  reported  practical,  the  assault  ordered  and  the  Forlorn 
Hope  detailed  and  'ready — one  hundred  and  fifty  of 
the  sturdy  Grenadiers  of  Laval,  at  their  head  the  two 
boys,  whose  whispers  are  so  low  that  they  are  unintelligi- 
ble to  their  men  ten  feet  to  their  rear. 

For  a  moment  these  t\vo  boys — Lieutenant  d'Essais 
is  but  seventeen,  and  his  captain,  Raymond,  le  Comte 
d'Arnac,  scarce  twenty — peer  into  the  darkness. 


A     PRINCESS     OF      PARIS.  7 

Then  Raymond  tosses  his  blonde  curls  about  and 
laughs:  "But  if  \ve  come  back,  you  will  return  a 
captain,  and  I  a  major,  my  little  D'Essais!" 

"But  so  few  of  us  come  back  !"  mutters  the  boy  lieuten- 
ant. "Our  regiment  always  gets  the  hottest  places 
now.  Our  Colonel,  Le  Marquis  Laval,  is  disabled  by  a 
broken  jawbone,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  is  all  that's  left 
of  us.  It  was  not  so  before  you,  D'Arnac,  joined  us 
from  Paris.  Two  months  ago  we  lost  no  more  than  the 
others;  at  that  time  Clancarthy's  Irish  Regiment  was 
getting  the  places  nearest  to  Heaven  or  HeJl.  There's 
very  few  of  them  left  also." 

But  here  the  Captain  stops  further  remark  by  a 
hastily  muttered  "  Quiet!  I  want  to  place  the  location 
of  the  works  in  my  mind,  D'Essais,  so  I'll  know  our 
route  in  the  dark  when  we  make  the  assault!" 

And  Raymond  d'Arnac  peers  out  into  the  darkness 
again,  and  seeing  nothing,  imagines  Friburg  as  he  saiV 
it  at  sunset — the  last  he  may  ever  look  on. 

In  front  of  him  are  the  low  works  of  the  old  town ; 
beyond,  its  hill  covered  with  forts;  about  him  the 
pretty  valley  with  its  low  green  fields  and  stately  mathe- 
matic  poplars  with  faded  October  leaves,  through 
which  the  river  Dreisam  winds,  its  waters  washing  the 
walls  of  Friburg.  Back  of  all  this  is  the  French  Army 
of  the  siege ;  in  advance,  their  trenches  and  batteries, 
and  behind  their  tents,  camp  equipage  and  camp  follow- 
ers, women  of  pleasure,  mummers,  acrobats,  and 
wandering  musicians  who  play  the  soft  melodies  of 
Luilli,  that  bring  back  to  the  boy  Captain's  remem- 
brance the  laughing  eyes  and  dancing  feet  of  the 
beauties  of  courtly  Versailles  and  joyous  Paris. 

But  his  revery  is  broken  in  upon.  In  the  darkness 
he  distinguishes  a  military  salute. 

A  moment  after  he  hears  a  voice  with  the  soft  brogue 
of  an  Irish  gentleman,  whisper  in  his  ear:  "Captain 
d'Arnac,  I  belave  ?  Permit  me  to  introduce  O'Brien 
Dillon,  Major  of  Clancarthy's  Regiment  of  the  Irish 
Brigade.  It's  too  dark  to  see,  so  I  hope  you'll  do  me 
the  honor  to  remember  me  by  me  voice,  which  is  a  very 
purty  one." 

"I  have  heard  of  Major  Dillon,"  remarks  Raymond, 
saluting. 


8  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"  Ah,  from  whom?  " 

"The  whole  army!     That  affair  of  outposts." 

"Thank  you,  Captain  d'Arnac,"  interrupts  the  Irish 
Major,  "though  by  St.  Patrick  I  don't  think  you 
should  have  told  me.  I've  just  been  absolved  for 
to-night's  bloody  work.  You  make  me  vain.  Vanity, 
the  priests  say,  is  a  mortal  sin,  so  perhaps  your  light 
words  will  send  the  soul  of  O'Brien  Dillon  the  wrong 
way  to-night.  But  to  business!  The  order  to  move  is 
by  word  of  mouth — no  rockets  or  fireworks  to  give  the 
German  gentlemen  over  there  a  hint  of  our  visit  this 
evening.  They  might  be  too-  hospitable.  You  and 
your  command  (you  lead  the  Forlorn  Hope,  I  belave) 
form  the  advance.  You  will  be  supported  by  the 
Regiment  Clancarthy  as  a  storming  party,  which  will 
be  followed  by  two  regiments  of  Swiss,  the  worst 
attacking  troops  in  the  world.  They  always  stand 
and  shoot,  and  never  charge  and  stab,  which  is 
fatal  in  assaults  on  strong  places.  But  I  digress. 
You  are  to  pass  to  the  right  of  our  advance  bat- 
tery, then  straight  for  the  main  breach  of  the  fort. 
Ye'll  know  its  position  by  bringing  the  lantern  of  the 
Gineral's  headquarters  in  line  with  the  torch  on  our 
advance  battery.  Then  up  the  breach — and  God  help 
ye,  for  I  think  it  is  about  as  difficult  a  place  as  I  ever 
saw  in  the  way  of  warfare." 

"These  are  General  du  Bourg's  orders?"  mutters 
D'Arnac,  his  lips  compressed,  but  his  eyes  very  bright, 
for  he  knows  how  desperate  the  affair  must  be. 

"  Yes,"  answers  the  Irishman,  shortly.  "You  will 
start  in  five  minutes  after  I  lave  you.  Five  minutes 
after  that  the  supporting  columns  will  move,  so  what  is 
left  of  ye  will  have  company  Now,  good-bye,  and  the 
Virgin  protect  ye,"  and  he  silently  wrings  the  hand  of 
the  young  Frenchman. 

As  he  does  so,  their  interview  is  broken  in  upon  by 
a  peculiar  melodious,  yet  whining  voice,  which  says 
plaintively:  "Maister!" 

"  Ah!  what  the  divil  do  you  want,  Lanty  ?  " 

"Maister,  I  was  just  thinkin' " 

"By  the  soul  of  Moses,  if  you  think  for  me  again, 
I'll  break  ivery  bone  in  your  body!"  whispers  the  Irish 
Major.  "Six  times  in  the  month  have  you  taken  the 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  9 

liberty  of  thinking  for  me,  and  ivery  time  some  devil's 
luck  has  come  upon  me!" 

"  Maister,  I  was  just  thinkin'  that  I  heard  a  noise  in 
the  Escargo  Fort,  as  if  the  Germans,  bad  'cess  to  them! 
were  marching  out  of  it." 

"  Ye  suspect  a  sortie?"  asks  the  Irish  officer  hurriedly, 
curiosity  getting  the  better  of  superstition. 

"No!    Faith  I  thought  they  were  going  back." 

"Deserting  the  fort?  Impossible!  Lanty,  never 
before  did  I  say  you  were  a  fool,  but  now,  mark  me, 
you're  brainless!" 

"I  have  been  yer  Honor's  servant  for  eight  years, 
and  it's  a  pity  if  I  haven't  grown  like  ye!" 

"Obey  me,  or  by  me  soul,  you'll  not  be  my  servant 
eight  hours!  Back  to  your  company!" 

"  Faith!  what  does  discharging  me  matter?  We're  in 
the  storming  party,  and  both  of  us'll  have  the  clivil  for 
our  master  to-morrow!"  mutters  Lanty,  who  saunters 
back,  his  gait  indicating,  as  far  as  darkness  permits 
Raymond  to  notice,  great  length  of  awkward  limb. 

"  Ah,  the  liberty  of  an  old  family  servant,  I  presume, 
Major  Dillon!"  remarks  the  young  Frenchman. 

"No,  all  my  old  family  servants  died  at  Limerick," 
mutters  the  Irish  officer. 

"Do  you  think  your  servant  heard  correctly?"  asks 
Raymond  eagerly. 

"That  the  Germans  left  the  fort  and  went  back  into 
the  town?  Impossible!  It's  against  all  the  rules  of 
war,  and  I've  fought  in  t\venty-t*o  pitched  battles.  But 
it  is  time  for  you  to  move,  Captain,  and  for  me  to 
marshal  the  storming  parly  that  follows  you." 

So  with  a  stiff  military  salute,  the  Irishman  disappears 
in  the  darkness,  as  Raymond  d'Arnac  whispers  to  little 
D'Kssais,  and  each  one  of  his  sergeants:  "Tell  the  men 
to  get  ready  to  move  !  Musketeers  in  the  front  and  on  the 
flanks!  Grenadiers  handle  your  pouches,  and  light 
port  fires.  Forward  by  column  of  fours!" 

Then  the  French  Forlorn  Hope  disappears  into  the 
darkness  of  the  night,  and  two  minutes  after  passing 
the  advance  breaching  battery,  makes  straight  for  the 
glacis  and  covered-way  of  the  Fort  Fscar^o. 

All  this  is  done  very  quietly — very  silentlv.  The 
blackness  of  this  October  night  is  so  great  that  were  it 


10  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

not  for  the  touch  of  his  file  to  the  right  or  left  of  him, 
and  the  muffled  tramp  of  his  comrades  about  him,  each 
man  of  that  storming  party  might  have  thought  himself 
alone. 

The  silence  is  unbroken  even  by  muttered  curse  of 
soldier  stumbling  in  the  darkness,  for  the  officers  have 
sworn  to  pass  sword  through  the  body  of  any  man  who 
gives  tongue  even  in  whisper  till  the  wild  rush  up  the 
breach  of  the  German  fort. 

So,  after  five  minutes  of  slow  and  cautious  marching, 
Raymond,  who  heads  the  Forlorn  Hope,  pauses,  and 
with  his  hand  keeps  back  the  first  four  grenadiers 
marching  behind  him,  and  they  in  their  turn  stay  the 
next  line  and  so  on,  till  all  the  party  have  halted. 

Then  D'Arnac  commences  to  grope  about;  he  thinks 
they  must  be  very,  near  the  glacis  of  the  Escargo 
battery.  Creeping  forward  for  some  twenty  yards,  he 
comes  to  the  commencement  of  the  fortifications,  out- 
lined by  a  small  ditch.  Carefully  crawling  until  the 
two  lights  that  have  been  pointed  out  to  him  in  the 
French  camp  are  in  line,  Raymond  knows  he  is  exactly 
opposite  the  practicable  breach  in  the  walls  of  the 
bastion. 

Still  creeping  he  returns  to  his  men,  and  they,  follow- 
ing him  very  cautiously  and  very  slowly  now,  soon  find 
themselves  upon  the  glacis,  at  the  point  of  attack. 

All  this  time  the  German  fort  is  very  quiet.  No 
noise  of  ordering  officers.  No  rattle  of  accoutrements — 
no  clank  of  sabre — no  creek  of  gun  carriage  comes 
down  the  breach  of  the  slumbering  fortress. 

Noiselessly  the  Forlorn  Hope  commences  to  mount 
the  glacis. 

Still  silence! 

A  second  after,  the  leading  files  stumble  into  the 
covered-way. 

Silence  no  longer  ! 

Musketry  crackles  in  the  breach  above  them,  hand 
grenades  explode  amongst  them — but  not  many. 

There  is  a  hoarse  roar  from  the  Forlorn  Hope,  and 
D'Arnac,  crying:  "Give  them  the  steel !"  scrambles 
up  the  broken  stonework  and  rubbish  of  the  breach, 
and  though  sabres  flash  around  him,  and  muskets  are 
fired  almost  in  his  face,  death  misses  him.  The  next 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  II 

second  his  men  are  around  him,  the  Germans  in  full 
flight;  and  Raymond  and  his  one  hundred  and  forty 
grenadiers  arc  masters  of  the  Kscargo  battery,  for  they 
have  lost  only  ten  men,  killed  and  wounded,  in  their 
quick  rush  up  the  breach. 

"Protect  the  work!"  the  Captain  cries  to  D'Kssais, 
who  stands  beside  him.  "We  have  taken  it  easily — 
now  to  hold  it!  " 

And  D'Essais,  under  his  orders,  deploys  his  men  so 
as  to  check  any  return  of  the  Germans,  while  his 
Captain,  looking  around  the  deserted  ruins  of  this 
strong  work,  is  astounded  at  the  ease  of  his  victory, 
for  stout  German  soldiers  are  not  wont  to  fight  in  this 
half-hearted  way,  and  acute  German  officers  are  not  apt 
to  be  taken  by  surprise. 

Even  as  D'Arnac  thinks  this,  and  examines  what  is 
beyond  him,  telling  the  men  to  barricade  the  military 
lane  that  runs  to  the  next  fortification  (which  he  knows 
is  but  fifty  yards  away),  and  to  prepare  for  a  counter 
attack — some  one,  unheeding  a  musket  which  is  fired  at 
him  by  one  of  the  men  on  guard  at  the  breach,  crawls 
up  into  the  fort,  and  giving  the  password  "Malplaquet! " 
O'Brien  Dillon  stands  beside  D'Arnac. 

"Sapristi!  Major,  your  supports  are  soon  after  me!" 
exclaims  the  young  man. 

"Faith!  I'm  the  only  support  ye  have  at  present. 
I  came  ahead  of  me  men,  unless  it  is  that  fellow  Lanty, 
but  I  have  outrun  him!  "  gasps  the  Irishman,  who  has 
apparently  come  at  an  awful  speed,  and  still  is  in  a 
hurry,  for  even  while  he  is  speaking,  Dillon  is  making 
a  hasty  examination  of  the  fort. 

A  second  after  he  speaks  again:  "From  the  lack  of 
noise,  I  discovered  you  fook  this  too  aisey,  and  I  feared 
for  you." 

He  is  still  looking  about,  examining  the  embrasures 
and  guns  in  them,  as  Mr.  Lanty,  crying,  "Malpla- 
quet! "  the  word  of  the  night,  before  the  sentries  shoot 
at  him,  stands  beside  them. 

"Examine  the  cannon  in  those  embrasures,  Lanty!  " 
cries  his  master.  "You  know  everything.  How  old 
are  they? " 

"By  me  soul!  they  are  bombards — culverins  and 
spiroles — out  of  date  a  century  ago !  " 


12  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"As  I  thought,"  mutters  the  Major.  "Out  of  use 
since  the  Thirty  Years  War.  The  Germans'  real 
service  guns  have  all  been  withdrawn  and  carried  into 
the  town." 

"  What  does  it  mean?  "  gasps  Raymond,  astounded. 

"It  means  they  let  you  take  the  fort,  but  |jft 
nothing  in  it  worth  taking.  //  means  that  they've  fired  a 
mine  under  it !  THE  SLOW  MATCH  is  NOW  LIGHTED!  " 

"And  in  three  minutes  we'll  all  be  blown  in  little 
paices  to  the  other  world  !  "  cries  Lanty  with  a  shriek. 

Excitement  makes  the  Irish  Major's  voice  high  and 
strident,  and  some  of  the  men  hearing  him  give  a  little 
shudder,  veterans  as  they  are,  one  muttering,  "Back, 
or  we're  dead !  " — Another  second  and  the  French  will 
be  in  flight! 

But  Dillon  cries,  "Not  back,  but  FORWARD!  The 
Germans  don't  expect  us  on  the  other  side  of  that  wall !  " 

And  Raymond  yells,  "Two  bastions  instead  of  one. 
Masters  of  these  we're  masters  of  Friburg  !  " 

Rushing  to  D'Essais  they  throw  down  the  barricade 
he  is  about  erecting,  and  spring  out  into  the  military 
cause-way — one  hundred  and  forty  to  attack  a  garrison 
of  eight  thousand. 

In  the  darkness,  not  knowing  the  fortifications 
exactly,  they  soon  find  themselves,  to  their  wonder, 
in  a  cross  trench,  and  there  pause,  groping  which  way 
to  go. 

A  second  after,  they  have  the  light  of  Hell  to  point 
their  path.  With  a  mighty  roar,  the  Fort  Escargo  leaps 
into  the  air,  killing  some  of  the  advance  of  Clancarthy's 
Irish  Regiment  that  are  even  now  climbing  its  breach. 

Now  Dillon  and  Raymond  see  where  they  are. 

The  straight  military  lane  they  have  wandered  out  of 
leads  from  a  second  German  bastion.  Down  this  some 
five  hundred  stout  Walloon  infantry  have  rushed  to 
overpower  any  of  the  French  left  alive  in  the  Escargo 
after  the  explosion. 

In  their  excitement,  these  Walloons,  not  know- 
ing the  unexpected  movement  of  Raymond's  Forlorn 
Hope,  rush  past  them  as  they  stand  secreted  in  the  cross 
trench. 

Then,  with  a  muttered  "We  have  them  !  "  O'Brien 
Dillon  springs  into  the  main  military  lane  again,  and  he 


A     PRINCESS     OF      1'AKIS.  13 

and  Raymond,  followed  by  their  grenadiers,  rush  into 
the  second  bastion,  the  possession  of  which  gives  pass 
to  the  streets  of  the  town,  if  they  can  hold  it. 

It  is  practically  a  detached  fort,  a  deep  fosse  or  moat 
filled  with  water  from  the  river  cutting  it  off  from  the 
neighboring  walls — but  has  a  gate  leading  to  the  town. 

There  are  but  few  Germans  in  this  work  ;  these,  •uncx- 
pecting  attack,  are  now  bayoneted  to  a  man.  Then 
D'Arnac  shuts  the  gates  on  the  town  side,  just  in  the 
face  of  some  Austrian  infantry  that  are  going  down  to 
the  assistance  of  the  Walloon  Regiment,  which  is  even 
now  in  the  ruins  of  the  Fort  Escargo,  engaging  the 
Irish  Regiment  of  Clancarthy,  and  its  Swiss  supports, 
who  are  by  this  time  crowding  up  the  ruined  glacis. 

Thus,  sandwiched  between  Germans  in  the  town  and 
Germans  outside  the  town,  who  keep  succor  and  support 
from  coming  to  them,  the  grenadiers  of  Raymond 
find  they  have  two  desperate  duties — one  to  keep 
the  German  garrison  of  the  town  from  entering 
this  second  bastion  they  have  seized  by  audacious 
luck  ;  the  other,  to  prevent  the  return  of  the 
five  hundred  Walloons  that  are  now  slowly  giving  back 
before  the  Irish  regiment.  Some  of  these  now  turn  to 
re-enter  the  town,  but  find  themselves,  to  their  dismay, 
barred  out,  and  lighted  hand  grenades  thrown  up®n 
them,  and  musketry  assaulting  them,  from  the  fort  they 
have  just  sallied  out  of. 

The  plight  of  these  Walloons  is  now  terrible.  On 
one  side,  walls  they  cannot  scale,  and  a  gate  they 
cannot  force,  and  on  the  other,  the  wild  yells  and  cold 
steel  of  the  Irish  regiment  and  the  cold  lead  of  the 
Swiss  Reserves. 

13ut  these  Walloon  infantry,  worthy  descendants  of 
Wallenstien's  stout  cutthroats  of  the  Thirty  Years 
War — die-hards  and  devil-may-cares — hold  themselves 
well  together,  and  intrenching  themselves  in  the  cross 
road  into  which  Raymond  and  his  followers  had 
wandered  by  mistake  some  five  minutes  before, 
hold  this,  like  veterans  in  a  trap,  against  the  repeated 
efforts  of  the  French  to  dislodge  them,  until  morning 
comes,  some  two  hours  afterwards. 

The  desperate  resistance  of  the  Walloons  prevents 
the  French  supports  reaching  Raymond,  Dillon,  and 


14  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

their  devoted  band,  who  are  now  attacked  from  the  town. 

Leaving  a  few  men  under  D'Essais  to  keep  any  strug- 
gling Walloons  from  forcing  the  outer  gates,  they  now 
turn  their  attention  to  defending  the  inner  wall  against 
the  assaults  from  the  garrison,  for  Baron  de  Arsch,  the 
German  Governor,  is  thoroughly  awake  by  this  time, 
and  very  much  astounded,  and  his  drums  beat  a  general 
alarm. 

A  moment  after,  one  thousand  Bavarian  infantry 
headed  by  Ratzow,  come  to  drive  out  and  destroy  these 
few  French  dare-devil  lunatics,  for  the  position  of 
D'Arnac  and  Dillon  is  rather  that  of  insanity  than 
military  method. 

But  assaulted  as  they  are  all  this  night,  the  French- 
man and  the  Irishman  and  their  grenadiers — who  grad- 
ually become  fewer  and  fewer — hold  that  wall  against 
the  repeated  attacks  of  the  Austrian  infantry. 

These  would  assuredly  succeed  were  they  able  to  use 
their  full  force  against  the  French ;  but  a  narrow  mediae- 
val street  leads  up  to  the  fortification,  and  only  a 
narrow  front  of  stout  German  infantry  can  be  brought 
to  bear  against  it. 

So  battling  side  by  side,  the  Irish  veteran  and  the 
boyish  French  Captain  grow  into  each  other's  love  and 
friendship.  Thirty  minutes  makes  them  comrades — an 
hour  devoted  friends. 

They  fight  on  till  after  a  time,  plied  by  French 
musketry  and  exploding  hand  grenades,  the  Austrians 
despair  of  taking  the  work  by  ordinary  assault.  D.e 
Arsch,  who  has  come  to  the  scene  in  person,  orders 
cannon  to  be  brought  up  and  sappers  and  miners  to 
clear  away  the  few  houses  at  the  end  of  the  street. 

At  this  the  pioneers  go  to  levelling  the  dwellings  of 
the  affrighted  townsmen,  who  with  their  women  and 
children,  run  shrieking  out  of  their  homes,  crying: 
"Sac!"  "  Rapine!  "  "  Holy  Virgin  preserve  us!"  For 
a  Sac  in  those  days  was  as  cruel  as  the  torture  chamber, 
and  as  ruthless  as  an  earthquake. 

Gazing  at  these  preparations,  the  Irish  Major  mutters: 
"They're  going  for  artillery.  When  they've  cleared 
away  the  houses,  we're  doomed!  " 

To  this  Lanty,  who  has  been  fighting  like  a  devil  all 
night,  mutters;  "Maister — I've  been  thinkin'. " 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  1 5 

"Thinking  be  d — ned!  Keep  fighting!  It's  your 
infernal  thinking  that  brought  us  here!  " 

"  Maister,  I've  been  thinkin'  the  guns  on  the  outer 
walls  are  loaded  to  the  muzzle  with  bullets  and  slugs 
for  our  benefit  to-night.  Couldn't  we  bring  some  of 
'em  round  to  this  side  and  feed  the  German  beggars 
with  their  own  food?  " 

"Yes!     Fight  artillery  with  artillery !  "  cries  D'Arnac. 

"  Better  than  that!  "  chuckles  Dillon.  "We'll  drive 
them  from  the  street.  Then  sally  out  and  butcher  the 
sappers  in  the  houses." 

While  they  are  speaking  they  are  acting! 

In  a  jiffy  they  have  seized  two  short  twelve-pounders 
loaded  to  the  muzzle  with  slugs  and  dragged  them  from 
the  outer  wall  towards  the  gate  opening  on  the  town, 
against  which  the  German  infantry,  profiting  by  the 
French  inaction,  are  now  thundering  harder  than 
ever. 

A  moment  after,  little  D'Essais,  his  blonde  curls 
waving  in  the  torchlight  that  illumines  their  labors, 
brings  up  two  long  nine-pounders,  each  charged  with  a 
round  shot  and  bag  of  bullets.  So  four  cannon  face 
the  gate. 

All  this  is  done  with  desperate  rapidity,  for  the  French 
are  working  not  only  for  the  blood  of  their  enemies, 
but  their  own  lives. 

"  Now  then — throw  open  the  gates!  "cries the  Major, 
the  fire  of  battle  in  his  eyes.  "  We'll  give  them  first 
their  bellies  full  of  slugs,  and  through  the  lanes  in  them 
pour  the  two  nine-pounder  round  shots.  D'Arnac, 
attack  with  your  column  before  the  Austrians  recover 
their  senses!  Into  the  houses  and  cut  off  the  sappers. 
Hold!  first  depress  the  guns  until  they  hit  the  front 
rank  knee  high.  Are  ye  ready  ? " 

"Yes!"  answers  Raymond  from  the  head  of  his 
grenadiers — only  one  hundred  of  them  now." 

"Then  throw  open  the  gates!" 

As  the  heavy  iron  doors  clank  out  the  Germans,  who 
are  swarming  in  front  of  them,  give  shout  of  triumph, 
and  rush  towards  the  portals.  They  think  it  is  sur- 
render. 

Then  four  short,  heavy  reports — four  lanes  of  fire  and 
death  through  masses  of  living  men — shrieks  of  agony 


1 6  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

from  the  dying  in  front — cries  of  horror  from  the 
affrighted  in  the  rear. 

"Charge!  "  yells  D'Arnac,  and,  pouring  out  into  the 
street,  his  men  give  one  sharp  deadly  volley,  then  use 
cold  steel,  trampling  over  the  dead  and  bayonetting  the 
wounded,  for  there  is  little  of  quarter  and  none  of 
mercy  this  desperate  night. 

The  Germans  give  hurriedly  back,  thinking  the  whole 
French  army  outside  have  forced  the  Walloons,  and  are 
coming  upon  them.  For  a  short  five  minutes  the  French 
have  their  own  way. 

"Quick!  Into  the  houses  and  butcher  the  working 
parties!  "  cries  Dillon. 

The  French  swarm  into  the  dwellings,  which  the  sap- 
pers are  still  demolishing,  and  taking  them  unawares 
slaughter  them  ad  libitum. 

In  the  dust  and  darkness  of  this  house-fight  Raymond, 
as  he  cuts  down  his  foes,  hears  from  the  next  room  a 
girlish  cry.  His  opponents  vanquished,  the  soldier  flies 
to  aid  beauty  and  distress. 

He  finds  both. 

Two  of  his  grenadiers  are  quarreling  over  a  girl  of 
fourteen  they  have  found  cowering  from  fright  in  the 
darkness. 

"  Here's  beauty!  "  laughs  one,  and  seizes  the  child. 

"And  booty  !"  yells  the  other,  dragging  a  heavy 
gold  chain  from  her  white  neck,  for  the  girl  is  only 
clothed  in  the  garments  of  night. 

"  I  buy  both  !  "  cries  Raymond,  stepping  beside  her. 
"Ten  louis  d'or  for  the  child — two  louis  for  the 
chain  !  " 

"  They're  yours,  Captain  !  Settle  in  camp  !  "  answer 
the  men,  fortunately  giving  their  boy  commander  no 
trouble,  for  he  would  have  saved  the  girl  by  his  sword 
could  he  not  save  her  by  his  purse. 

"Quick  !  or  we  won't  get  back  !  "  orders  Raymond, 
who  sees  through  a  window  the  Germans  coming  on 
again,  and  hears  Dillon  crying  :  "Retreat  !  or  they'll 
get  in  the  gate  with  us  !  " 

Then  the  child  having  fainted,  Raymond  hurriedly 
picks  her  up,  though  somehow  her  round  white  arms 
close  round  his  neck,  as  if  she  knew  she  had  found 
protection.  So  the  French  draw  off — but  not  all  of  them ! 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  I? 

Some  wretches,  forgetting  peril  in  love  of  plunder, 
stay  to  loot  the  houses,  and  are  hemmed  in  and  slaught- 
ered, for  the  Germans,  savage  at  their  losses,  have  now 
discovered  their  foes  are  few,  and  are  advancing  rapidly, 
pouring  out  musketry  fire  as  they  come  on. 

Through  a  storm  of  bullets  D'Arnac,  shielding  his 
charge  by  holding  her  in  front  of  him,  makes  his  way — 
he  and  what  is  left  of  his  band — now  but  fifty  grenadiers. 

Some  of  these  are  so  wounded  that,  waiting  for 
them,  the  Austrians  almost  come  up  to  the  French. 
Hindered  by  his  burden,  Raymond  is  for  a  moment 
surrounded,  and  would  be  lost,  did  not  the  Irish  Major, 
whose  arms  are  bloody  to  the  shoulder,  sally  forth  and 
cut  him  out. 

But  this  keeps  the  gates  open,  and  they  would  be 
forced  now  and  the  work  carried  had  not  little  D'Essais, 
who  has  been  left  in  charge  of  the  fortification,  brought 
up  another  muzzle  loaded  cannon. 

With  it  he  rakes  another  line  in  the  advancing 
columns 

Then  the  gates  close. 

As  the  iron  bars  fall  into  place,  Dillon  gives  a  low 
laugh  and  says  :  "Ye're  a  lucky  fellow,  D'Arnac  !  Ye're 
the  only  man  who  took  a  prisoner  to-night — and  she's  a 
beauty  !  " 

Coming  to  him,  he  clasps  his  hand  and  mutters: 
"I'm  glad  ye've  taken  care  of  the  poor  little  girl  !" 
and  pats  her  head  and  strokes  her  curls.  Next  he  says 
suddenly:  "  But  we  must  go  to  fighting  again,  me  boy, 
or  both  of  us  will  be  dallying  with  angels  to-morrow — 
not  flesh  and  blood  darlings. " 

So  Raymond  takes  his  little  charge,  who  is  still 
unconscious,  and  putting  her  in  an  out-of-the-way 
embrasure,  where  flying  bullets  will  not  be  apt  to  find 
her,  girds  up  his  loins  for  another  grapple  with  his  foes. 

This  has  now  become  almost  a  death  struggle,  for  the 
Austrian  sappers  are  working  again,  and  Austrian  can- 
non make  their  appearance  at  the  end  of  the  street, 
and  the  attack  is  pressed  more  fiercely  than  ever. 
Grenades  and  small  bombs  are  thrown  by  hand  from 
the  roofs  of  neighboring  houses  upon  the  few  French- 
men who  still  stand  and  fight,  and  fight  and  die,  cheered 
by  the  gallant  Irishman  and  the  French  Captain. 


1 8  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

At  each  flight  of  hand  grenades,  and  each  discharge 
of  Austrian  bullets,  there  are  fewer  Frenchmen  to  fight 
— fewer  Frenchmen  to  kill.  As  the  last  houses  that 
protect  the  French  work  from  general  assault  are 
levelled  and  the  German  artillery  opens  fire,  Raymond, 
his  arm  cut  open  by  a  sabre  stroke  in  the  street  fight, 
clasps  the  hand  of  O'Brien  Dillon,  who  is  bleeding  from 
a  scalp  wound,  and  mutters:  "  Thank  you  for  trying  to 
save  my  life!" 

To  this  the  Irish  Major  answers  through  clenched 
teeth:  "We'll  send  a  few  more  to  Kingdom  Come  ahead 
of  us  yet.  Good-bye,  me  boy,  till  the  other  world !  We 
go  together!  " 

"  Together  !  "  echoes  D'Arnac. 

They  know  their  time  has  come — for  their  enemies 
have  now  made  temporary  bridges  and  are  preparing  to 
cross  the  moat  and  attack  them  on  the  flanks,  which 
they  cannot  defend — and  the  Austrians  are  in  no  mood 
to  give  quarter. 

Even  as  they  speak,  a  lighted  carcass  filled  with 
burning  sulphur,  to  illuminate  the  work  of  death,  is 
thrown  into  the  bastion  held  by  the  French,  and  De 
Arsch,  the  German  Commandant,  smiling  to  himself, 
says:  "  We'll  have  these  few  Frenchmen!"  for  he  sees 
there  are  now  only  ten. 

But  he  doesn't ! 

For  now  there  is  a  sudden  discharge  of  cannon  from 
the  other  side  of  the  bastion,  and  Lanty,  giving  shrieks 
of  joy,  comes  running  to  Dillon,  crying:  "It's  me 
thinking  that's  saved  ye,  ungrateful  maister!" 

"What  the  divil  have  you  done?" 

"I  jest  found  two  cannon  that  raked  the  little  lane 
the  cursed  Walloons  outside  were  holding.  They  were 
both  loaded  to  the  muzzle.  So  I  turned  'em  loose  on 
the  bastes  that  were  keepin'  succor  from  coming  to  us. 
I  killed  a  hundred  and  they've  fled.  Begorra!  Isn't 
that  a  swate  Irish  yell?" 

And  so  it  is! 

The  Irish  regiment,  swarming  to  their  aid,  stands 
beside  them,  and  the  Swiss  sharpshooters  are  being 
deployed  upon  the  walls.  There  is  the  rattle  of  a 
French  battery  that  is  being  dragged  by  hand  through 
the  breach  of  the  Escargo  and  up  the  military  lane,  the 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  19 

whole  Irish  Brigade  is  following  after  it,  and  the  town 
of  Friburg  is  lost  to  the  Austrians,  and  stout  De  Arsch 
is  uttering  German  curses  and  withdrawing  his  garrison 
into  the  four  great  forts  upon  the  Schlossberg  that 
stands  half  a  mile  away. 

Then  Raymond,  wiping  the  blood  from  his  arm,  clasps 
hands  with  O'Brien  Dillon,  Major  of  Clancarthy's 
Regiment  of  Irish  troops  in  the  French  service.  Next 
going  in  search  of  the  one  thing  this  night  has  given 
him  save  wounds  and  glory — the  little  girl  he  has  rescued 
from  the  town  of  Friburg — he  takes  her  tenderly  up. 

And  she,  recognizing  him,  puts  her  arms  round  his 
neck  and  says:  "Brave  gentleman!  You  have  saved 
me!  I  love  you!" 

So,  clasping  her  by  the  hand,  and  to  the  word  of 
command  and  tap  of  drum,  and  beside  him  O'Brien 
Dillon,  followed  by  Lant.y,  Raymond  marches  his  storm- 
ing party — -four  grenadiers  of  the  Regiment  Laval  now 
— all  that  remain  alive  of  this  night's  death  frolic — out 
of  the  fort  they  have  given  to  the  King  of  France,  and 
with  it  the  fair  City  of  Friburg. 

But  he  leaves  behind  little  D'Essais,  his  blonde  curls 
stained  with  blood,  lying  dead  upon  the  lone  bastion, 
and  one  thousand  more  brave  men,  Germans  and 
French,  food  for  the  crows,  in  the  broken  embrasures 
and  battered  walls  of  the  Escargo  Fort  and  narrow 
streets  of  the  town.  All  because  his  Most  Christian 
Majesty  of  France  and  his  cousin,  the  Emperor  of 
Austria,  had  had  a  little  dispute  as  to  who  should  be 
King  of  Spain. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    ANNALS   OF    A    SOLDIER    OF    MISFORTUNE. 

So  THEY  march  down  over  the  ruins  of  the  exploded 
bastion,  a  melancholy  but  glorious  procession,  greeted 
with  the  bravus  of  the  French  troops  and  the  wild  yells 
of  the  Irish  Brigade,  who  line  the  road  to  the  little 
bridge  over  the  Dreisam. 

Here  some  columns,  marching  to  the  further  assault 
and  occupation  of  the  town,  open  their  ranks  and  cheer 
them  as  they  pass  through,  though  there  is  little  time 


20  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

for  ceremony,  for  the  French  are  following  up  their 
successes  of  the  night,  and  the  rattle  of  musketry  from 
Friburg  now  shows  they  are  driving  the  last  of  the 
Austrians  out  of  the  streets  of  the  place  into  their  fort- 
resses on  the  Schlossberg. 

At  last  the  heroes  of  the  night  stand  before  Ray- 
mond's tent  with  the  grime  of  battle  still  on  them ; 
their  uniforms  are  rags,  their  limbs  trembling  with  the 
wear  and  tear,  both  mental  and  physical,  of  fighting 
without  hope  of  victory — without  hope  of  life.  The 
four  grenadiers,  veterans  as  they  are,  look  at  each 
other  as  if  astounded  they  still  live,  until  dismissed  to 
their  quarters. 

Notwithstanding  offers  of  hospitality  the  Irish  Major 
says:  "Good-bye,  my  lad.  I  want  a  little  sleep,  and 
Lanty,  as  usual,  wants  his  breakfast.  I  presume  this 
afternoon  will  see  you  at  least  a  major." 

"  And  you,  I  presume,  a  colonel,"  answers  Raymond, 
pressing  the  hand  of  his  friend  of  a  night. 

"Faith,  I  hope  so,"  mutters  Dillon,  "but  the  divil's 
own  luck  has  been  upon  me  ever  since  I  was — "  He 
checks  himself  suddenly,  biting  his  lip,  then  goes  on — 
"for  the  last  year.  If  I  was  anybody  else  they  might 
make  me  a  gineral,  but,  bedad !  when  you've  given  up 
hoping  it's  best  to  stop  guessing." 

Then  casting  his  eyes  over  the  tents  of  the  surround- 
ing army,  he  says  suddenly:  "Lanty,  they  must  have 
moved  the  headquarters  of  our  regiment. " 

"Begorra!  the  Rigiment  Clancarthy  can  get  along 
without  headquarters  after  last  night." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"Why,  I  mane  that  I  counted  'em  on  the  bastion 
before  we  left  and  I  could  only  find  twenty-five  of 
'em,  all  tould.  The  colonel's  dead  and  there's  divil 
another  officer  in  the  rigiment,  save  yourself.  Shure, 
yer  Honor  '11  be  the  colonel  and  perhaps  they'll  make 
me  the  next  in  command." 

But  this  prophecy  does  not  seem  to  affect  Dillon  with 
joy.  He  mutters  to  himself  these  curious  words:  "It's 
the  second  regiment  my  bad  luck  has  destroyed."  A 
moment  after,  as  if  trying  to  throw  something  from  his 
mind,  he  laughs  a  little  shortly,  and  patting  Raymond 
on  the  shoulder,  says:  "Good-bye.  I  leave  you  to 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  21 

your  luck.  Faith,  you've  captured  a  little  beauty. 
Every  man  in  the  camp  will  envy  you." 

But  Raymond,  who  has  been  too  short  a  time  a 
soldier  to  have  acquired  the  vices  peculiar  to  the  camps 
of  those  rough-and-tumble  days,  replies  curtly:  "No 
one  will  envy  me,  Major  Dillon.  Until  I  can  restore 
her  to  her  friends,  my  capture  of  last  night  rests  there," 
and  points  up  the  valley  of  St.  Peters,  towards  the 
spires  of  the  Carthusian  monastery  and  convent  that 
pierce  the  blue  sky  a  couple  of  miles  away. 

"Ah!  God  bless  you  for  a  good-hearted  and  an 
honest  boy!"  cries  Dillon.  "Couldn't  you  tell  I  was 
only  testing  you,  to  find  out  if  you  were  as  bad  as  all  the 
rest  of  the  young  bloods,  and  now  that  I  find  you're 
better,  it's  the  joy  of  my  heart  to  have  saved  your  life. 
Good-bye  until  — 

"Until  this  afternoon,"  answers  Raymond,  "The 
friendship  of  last  night  shall  last  till  you  wish  it  to 
cease." 

"Faith,  an'  it  will  be  a  long  one,  then,"  replies 
Dillon  Then,  looking  at  the  child,  whose  loveliness  is 
heightened  by  her  little  bare  feet  made  rosy  by  the  cold 
and  made  picturesque  by  Raymond's  blue  infantry  coat 
in  which  he  has  wrapped  her  to  keep  her  white  limbs 
from  the  fresh  October  breeze,  the  Major  remarks: 
"  I  hope  she'll  bring  you  more  happiness  than  the  one  1 
saved.  Always  dread  beauty. " 

"An  Irishman  a  woman-hater!  "  ejaculates  Raymond. 

"Not  a  woman-hater,  but  a  woman-/<?rt/r>-, "  replies 
Dillon.  Then  he  gives  a  gloomy  sigh,  wrings  Ray- 
mond's hand  and  strides  away,  followed  by  Mr.  Lanty, 
who  has  taken  advantage  of  this  colloquy  to  borrow 
from  D'Arnac's  servant  enough  wine  and  provisions 
to  make  a  very  comfortable  meal  for  himself  and  mast<  r, 
laughingly  remarking,  "Excuse  the  liberty,  Capia:.  . 
but  we've  not  been  foraging  for  a  week." 

Left  alone,  Raymond  turns  to  the  child,  who  has 
been  looking  at  him  eagerly — perhaps  almost  timidly — 
and  her  beauty  interests  him  more  than  ever.  He  asks, 
reassuringly,  "  What  is  your  name,  little  one?  " 

"Jeanne-,"  she  replies. 

"Jeanne?     No  other? " 

"Oh,  yes.     Jeanne  Franfoise  Quinault." 


22  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

"And  your  father  and  mother?  " 

"My  father  is  dead." 

"Oh!     Killed  during  the  siege?" 

"No,  doing  a  triple  somersault." 

"A  what?" 

"A  triple  somersault.  My  father  was  an  acrobat — 
my  mother  is  an  actress.  I  have  two  brothers,  Abra- 
ham and  Maurice.  I  am  an  actress,  too.  I  play 
children's  parts,  and  dance  and  sing.  Would  you  like 
me  to  recite?  I  know  some  of  Moliere's  lines." 

"Oh,  strolling  players!  "  ejaculates  the  young  man, 
perhaps  looking  with  slightly  less  reverence  at  the  pretty 
little  goddess  who  stands  in  bare  feet  beside  him. 

Then  a  struggle  comes  into  his  mind.  Her  family 
dispersed,  perhaps  destroyed.  Why  should  he  not  take 
what  has  been  given  into  his  hands?  He  will  be  kinder 
to  her  than  others.  It  will  be  a  better  life  than  that 
she  has  been  following,  for  strolling  players  in  the  year 
1713  were  not  considered  of  any  great  account  in  the 
social  life  of  this  world. 

But  even  as  he  thinks  this,  trusting  blue  eyes  are 
turned  upon  him.  The  child  says:  "You  have  saved 
my  life.  You  are  as  noble  as  the  hero  of  the  play.  I 
trust  you." 

D'Arnac  feels  two  soft  lips  pressed  upon  his  hand, 
and  mutters  to  himself:  "She  shall  not  trust  in  vain." 

Calling  to  his  servant  he  says:  "Get  one  of  the 
laundresses  of  the  regiment — one  of  the  soldier's  wives 
— and  let  her  get  some  clothes  for  this  little  girl,  and 
see  she  has  enough  to  eat,  and  at  one  o'clock  have  my 
horse  ready,"  then  goes  in  and  writes  a  report  of  last 
night's  affair  to  his  commanding  officer,  tumbles  upon 
his  cot,  and  goes  to  sleep  like  Morpheus  himself. 

Five  hours  after  he  takes  breakfast  with  his  protege, 
and  finds  the  girl  so  fascinating  that,  horses  being 
brought,  he  takes  personal  charge  of  her  journey  to  the 
Carthusian  Convent,  for  the  lanes  about  an  army  of 
those  days  were  filled  with  camp  followers  who  were 
little  better  than  banditti. 

Arriving  at  the  Convent,  Raymond  places  his  little 
protege  in  charge  of  the  good  nuns,  upon  which  she 
bursts  into  tears,  and  sobs:  "Don't  leave  me  here 
forever!  " 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  23 

And  he,  looking  at  the  bright  face,  and  thinking  it  is 
too  sunny  to  become  that  of  a  nun,  says:  "No,  only 
till  I  can  place  you  in  your  mother's  arms!" 

"Pooh!  I  love  you  much  better!"  At  this  Raymond 
laughs  merrily,  and  the  mother  superior  gives  a  gasp  of 
horror. 

"My  mother  gets  drunk!"  continues  little  Jeanne. 

"  Does  she?  Then  I'll  forward  you  to  my  relatives  in 
France!"  says  this  young  gentleman,  who  does  not  do 
things  bv  halves. 

Having  made  up  his  mind  on  this  point,  D'Arnac 
hastily  bids  her  adieu,  and  rides  back  to  his  quarters, 
where  he  finds  an  orderly  from  his  brigade  general  bear- 
ing a  packet  marked  "  Colonel  d'Arnac,  on  Service," 
and  opening  it,  finds  a  most  complimentary  epistle, 
thanking  him  for  the  town  he  has  given  to  the  French 
Arms,  and  notifying  him  of  his  appointment  as  Acting 
Colonel  of  his  regiment,  a  rank  that  the  writer  states 
there  is  no  doubt  will  be  confirmed  by  the  King  at 
Versailles,  as  soon  as  he  hears  of  Raymond's  marvelous 
achievement. 

Filled  with  joy  and  pride,  this  boy  Colonel  of  twenty 
thinks:  "Egad!  had  it  not  been  for  the  noble  Irishman, 
I  would  have  been  buried  under  the  debris  of  the  Escargo 
Fort,  and  not  a  colonel.  I  will  ride  over  and  congratu- 
late Dillon.  He  at  least  must  be  a  colonel  also!  " 

With  the  impetuosity  of  youth,  Raymond  throws 
himself  upon  his  steed  once  more,  and  gallops  to  the 
tent  occupied  by  O'Brien. Dillon,  to  find  that  veteran 
very  gloomy  and  morose. 

"Let  me  congratulate  you!  "  he  cries. 

"Congratulate  me  on  what?"  answers  the  Irishman, 
savagely.  "  On  being  arrested?  " 

"Arrested!"  gasps  Raymond.  "  They've  made  me 
a  colonel." 

"And,  begorra,  put  O'Brien  Dillon  under  arrest,  and 
poor  Lanty  is  in  the  guard  tent." 

"Impossible!" 

"  Divil  doubt  it!  Look  at  that  letter!"  and  the  Major 
hands  Raymond  one  in  the  same  handwriting  that  had 
brought  joy  to  D'Arnac,  but  which  curtly  orders  Major 
O'Brien  Dillon,  of  Clancarthy's  Regiment  of  Foot,  to 
deliver  up  his  sword  to  the  officer  bearing  the  note,  and 


24  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

hold  himself  under  arrest  in  his  tent,  until  a  court 
martial  can  be  called  together  to  try  him  on  the  follow- 
ing charge,  viz :  '  •  Conduct  unbecoming  an  officer,  on  the 
evening  of  the  i3th  of  October,  1713,  in  deserting  his 
command  in  the  presence  of  the  enemy,  during  active 
service  on  an  attack  upon  the  Escargo  Fort,  and  not 
being  with  his  regiment  during  the  night  in  question." 

"Why,  you  were  the  hero  of  the  attack!  Deserting 
your  command!  You  were  in  front  of  it!  " 

"Yes,  too  far  in  front  of  it;  I  presume  that's  what 
they  mean,"  sneers  the  Major.  "And  then,  poor 
Lanty,  they  talk  about  making  him  run  the  gauntlet. 
There  are  only  twenty  five  men  in  the  regiment,  and  it 
will  be  a  very  short,  though  not  a  merry  run  Mr.  Lanty 
will  have." 

"This  outrage  I  will  prevent  with  my  life — with  my 
sword — with  my  honor!"  cries  Raymond,  and  impulsively 
runs  out  to  mount  his  horse  again. 

"Where  are  you  going?  "  calls  O'Brien  after  him. 

"To  the  Due  de  Villars,  Marechal  of  F ranee!  " 

"  Then,  for  God's  sake,  don't  leave  till  I  speak  to  you  ! 
I'm  under  arrest  and  can't  leave  me  tent,  or  I  would 
pull  you  off  that  horse  myself!" 

Thus  adjured,  Raymond,  stifling  his  indignation, 
though  his  cheeks  are  flushed,  his  eyes  flashing  and  his 
lips  trembling,  unhorses  himself  again,  and  re-enters 
the  tent  of  the  Irish  Major. 

"  Now  sit  down  on  that  corn-beef  keg,  and  promise 
not  to  get  up  from  it  until  I  tell  you." 

"  But  I  can  arrange  this  affair — I  can  do  justice  to 
you!"  urges  Raymond.  "Marechal  de  Villars  is  my 
father's  friend,  and  was  my  granduncle,  the  great 
Turenne's  pupil  in  arms.  He  will  believe  me.  I  will 
destroy  your  cowardly  enemies " 

"Enemies — that's  what  it  is!  That's  what  I  want 
to  talk  to  you  about,  before  you  go  to  the  Duke,  so  you 
may  know  how  to  meet  them.  Listen  to  me!  I  think 
it  is  enemies  we  both  have!  " 

"Pooh!  I  haven't  an  enemy  in  the  world !"  sneers 
Raymond,  "unless  it  is  the  Austrians  over  there,  as  a 
matter  of  business." 

"Haven't  you — my  poor  confidin'  babe — Colonel 
though  ye  are  ?  I  think  ye  have  a  very  deadly  and 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  25 

a  most  secret  one!  But  light  a  pipe  with  me.  I've  got 
some  rare  Virginia  tobacco — some  oi'  the  last  that 
my —  Hut  we  won't  think  of  that!  "  lie  says,  with  a 
sigh.  "  Present  evils  take  precedence  of  past  ones. 
Now,  you  smoke,  and  I'll  talk.  What — you  won't 
light  up?  You  haven't  learned  the  fashionable  amuse- 
ment. Bedacl !  it's  the  only  thing  that's  kept  me  from 
going  crazy.  Sometimes  in  the  last  year,  when  I  think 
of  my !  " 

He  checks  himself  suddenly  again,  but  a  fearful 
expression,  sterner  than  even  that  of  battle,  has  come 
into  the  Irishman's  blue  eyes. 

Next  he  says:  "I  can  smoke  and  talk  too.  You 
listen,  and  answer  my  questions  straight  as  a  lunge  en 
carte — for  perhaps  your  life  depends  on  it.  Have  ye 
ever  noticed,  since  you  joined  it  two  months  ago,  what 
has  been  nappening  to  your  regiment?" 

"  I  hardly  think  I  understand  you,"  returns  Raymond. 
"The  Regiment  of  Laval  has  had  the  usual  chances  of 
war.  Our  losses  have  been " 

"Enormous!  Unheard  of!"  interrupts  the  Major. 
"When  you  joined  your  regiment  you  were  about  eight 
hundred  strong.  To-day  you  're  four,  rank  and  file,  and 
you,  its  Colonel,  have  had  a  cat's  lives  or  you'd  have 
been  in  the  burial  trench  a  hundred  times.  Before 
you  came  your  regiment  averaged  about  the  same  death 
rate  as  the  rest  of  the  army,  barring  my  regiment, 
which  was  always  in  bad  luck  ever  since  I  joined  it. 
We  always  had  the  most  desperate  places,  and  before 
that  the  regiment  I  belonged  to,  that  of  De  Crissey,  was 
equally  unfortunate.  They  were  always  put  into  the 
deadly  place  in  the  fight.  Why  did  the  HeadqtuirU -iV 
staff  do  it?  It  wasn't  luck  that  always  gave  my  regi- 
ment the  worst  of  it.  Neither  was  it  luck  that  has 
always  put  your  regiment — since  you  joined — at  tin- 
point  of  massacre.  There  must  be  some  reason  for  it. " 

"The  chances  of  war." 

"  This  is  no  chance,  it's  design  I  am  talking  about! 
My  regiment,  De  Crissey's,  lost  four  hundred  men  in 
the  escalade  and  fight  in  the  swamp  at  Landau,  and  four 
hundred  more  in  the  attack  upon  the  ravelin  at  that 
place.  Then  there  was  no  more  regiment  of  De  Crissey, 
and  I  was  transferred  to  as  fine  an  Irish  one  as  ever 


26  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

carried  the  colors  of  France,  only  three. weeks  ago, 
and  we  have  now  got  twenty-five  men  left,  according 
to  Lanty,  and  a  major  under  arrest.  You  join  your 
regiment,  and  in  less  than  two  months,  from  eight 
hundred,  you  come  down  to  four  men,  all  told,  and 
a  colonel,  not  under  arrest,  thank  God!  Now,  there 
is  some  reason  for  this.  Who  do  you  think  your 
enemy  is  ? " 

"Great  Heaven!  "you  don't  imagine  I)u  Bourg,  the 
General  in  command  of  our  division  ?  " 

"  Oh  no!  He  is  simply  a  soldier.  It  is  his  Chief-of 
Staff,  I  think — that  little  snivelling  dandy  who  has  just 
come  from  the  Court  at  Versailles,  that  little  sycophant 
to  the  powers  that  be." 

"  Lenoir  ?  " 

"The  man!     Gaston  Lenoir!  " 

"Why  should  he  hate  us  ?  " 

"He  don't  hate  us.  He's  simply  doing  the  dirty 
work  of  some  one  in  the  French  Court.  Perhaps  two, 
my  enemy  and  thy  enemy.  Raymond  le  Comte 
d'Arnac,  who  is  the  lady  who  hates  you  ?" 

"No  one!"  replies  the  young  Frenchman.  Then  he 
asks  suddenly :  "Who  is  your  fair  enemy ?" 

"Divil  if  I  know.  There  is  only  one,  and  she — 
sometimes  I  think  she  must  be  dead,  and  sometimes, 
God  knows  I  don't  know  what  I  think!"  and  tears 
stand  in  the  Irish  officer's  eyes,  which  make  him  look 
very  tender,  and  very  handsome,  for  he  is  as  yet  under 
thirty,  and  though  he  has  the  strong  yet  graceful 
figure  of  a  soldier,  his  face  has  a  genial  and  kindly 
look,  and  his  eyes  would  be  laughing  ones  had  not  some 
incident  of  his  military  life  made  them  seem  almost 
sad.  Then  he  says  solemnly:  "  Last  night  made  you 
my  friend,  the  only  friend  I  have  got  in  the  world  now. 
All  the  officers  of  my  regiment  are  killed,  and  Lanty  in 
the  guard-tent,  poor  divil!  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if 
I  must  tell  somebody  about  my  sore  heart,  and  you're 
the  only  man  this  side  of  Ireland  that  I  would  tell,  and 
perhaps  it  may  help  you  to  fight  my  battle  a  little  for 
me,  and  maybe  it  may  help  you  to  fight  your  battle  for 
yourself.  Would  you  like  to  hear  the  annals  of  a  soldier 
of  misfortune,  before  you  go  to  see,  on  his  behalf,  the 
Marechal  of  France  ?  " 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  27 

"  If  it  will  please  you  to  tell  me!"  mutters  Raymond, 
noting  the  agitation  of  his  Irish  friend. 

"Very  well,  then.  My  father  was  killed  some  twenty- 
five  years  ago,  fighting  for  his  King,  James  the  Second, 
of  the  Holy  Catholic  faith,  at  the  siege  of  Limerick,  and 
with  him  the  most  of  my  relatives,  save  my  cousin,  Arthur 
Dillon,  who,  they  tell  me,  is  coming  over  here  to  take 
the  French  service,  like  myself.  I  was  educated  by  the 
Priests  of  Tralee,  and  there  picked  up  Lanty,  who  was 
a  lay  brother,  and  knew  more  than  all  the  rest  of  the 
monastery.  He  was  a  great  student — he  could  read 
Latin  and  Greek,  and  was  experimenting  with  what 
he  called  the  forces  of  nature,  and  what  the  monks 
thought  was  unholy,  and  meant  dealings  with  the  divil. 
So  one  night,  after  he  had  illuminated  the  whole  monas- 
tery with  some  candles  he  made  of  nothing  by  a  whirling 
machine  he  had  invented,  they  accused  him,  on 
account  of  the  great  light  he  produced,  of  having  deal- 
ings with  the  Prince  of  Darkness,  and  put  him  into 
a  cell  for  life.  And  I,  God  forgive  me  for  my  sin,  if  I 
committed  one !  thought  his  was  a  hard  fate,  as  he  told  me 
he  had  only  got  the  idea  of  the  light  by  stroking  a  cat's 
back  the  wrong  way,  and  gitting  a  spark  out  of  her.  So, 
as  he'd  been  very  kind  to  me  when  I  ran  away  from  the 
monastery  to  be  a  soldier,  I  slipped  down  into  the 
vaults,  and  released  him.  And  from  that  day  to  this, 
if  it  wasn't  for  his  infernal  thinking  all  the  time,  he'd  be 
the  best  servant  and  most  faithful  creature  that  ever 
followed  a  man  through  the  bad  luck  and  good  luck, 
through  the  famine  and  plenty,  through  the  poverty  and 
riches  that  always  come  to  a  dashing  soldier  of 
fortune. 

"  With  Mr.  Lanty  following  after  me,  by  hook  and  by 
crook  we  evaded  the  priests  and  made  our  way  to  the 
Cove  of  Cork,  and  from  there  got  passage  in  a  trading 
lugger  to  Ostend,  which  was  then,  as  luck  would  have 
it,  in  possession  of  the  French,  where  I  enlisted  as  a 
gintleman  volunteer,  and  fought  my  way  up  in  three 
pitch  battles  to  that  of  a  lieutenant  of  I )e  ( 'rissey's  Reg- 
iment of  Horse.  Lanty,  to  give  me  a  genteel  appear- 
ance, acting  as  my  servant,  and  swearing  my  family  was 
the  oldest  in  Ireland,  which  1  supported  with  my  sword 
in  three  bloody  duels,  until  no  one  doubted  the  good 


28  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

blood  of  O'Brien  Dillon.  Then,  with  a  little  luck  at 
gaming,  I  bought  my  captain's  commission,  and  became 
Captain  O'Brien  Dillon  of  De  Crissey's  Dragoons,  and 
thought  myself  a  very  fine  gintleman,  and  a  very  lucky 
one.  That  was  three  years  ago.  Two  more  years  of 
battle,  and  I  became  a  major,  and  then  came — but  a 
little  over  a  year  ago — the  greatest  joy  of  my  life,  and 
the  greatest  misery  as  well.  One  evening,  just  after 
De  Villars  had  forced  Prince  Eugene  at  Denain,  and 
Du  Bourg  had  captured  Marchiennes  with  all  the 
German  supplies  and  most  of  their  ammunition,  and  had 
settled  down  very  comfortably  to  the  siege  of  Douay, 
for  we  were  having  rather  easy  work  of  it  now,  Queen 
Anne  having  made  peace  with  his  Majesty  of  France, 
and  Marlborough  and  his  British  guards,  infantry  and 
cavalry,  that  were  always  killing  us,  and  making  them- 
selves disagreeable  to  us,  having  sailed  away  across  the 
water, 

"Well,  one  night  De  Crissey,  our  Colonel,  sent  for 
me  to  his  tent,  and  says:  '  Major,  do  you  want  desperate 
duty?' 

"I  says:  'If  there's  anything  in  it  in  the  way  of 
glory  or  honor. ' 

"He  says:  'More!     There's  money!' 

"  'Where  is  it  ? '  whispered  I,  very  eager.  Then  he 
detailed  me  with  two  squadrons  of  dragoons  to  join 
Colonel  Pasteur  in  his  great  raid  on  Dutch  Brabant, 
that  was  to  make  things  even  for  General  Grovestein's 
outrageous  treatment  of  the  French  peasantry  about 
Metz.  It  was  to  be  a  foray  of  blood,  a  foray  of  fire, 
and  a  foray  of  robbery,  for  which  they  had  picked  out 
nearly  a  thousand  of  the  most  desperate  riders  in  the 
French  army. 

"Leaving  camp  that  night,  we  skirted  and 
flanked  Prince  Eugene's  entrenchments  and  got 
safely  into  Namur  by  the  morning.  We  were  there 
reinforced  by  a  detachment  from  the  garrison,  which 
made  in  all  about  fifteen  hundred  as  wild  and  reckless 
recruits  as  ever  the  divil  enlisted,  that  were  to  be  let 
loose  like  a  pack  of  mad  dogs  on  the  peaceful  peasantry 
and  rich  burghers  of  the  Low  Countries. 

"  And  what  a  foray  it  was-! 

"We  left  Namur  early  in  the   morning  and  crossing 


\     PRIM  h>s    •  n-     PARIS.  29 

the  Schelde  at  Langdorp,  we  pushed  up  right  through 
the  heart  of  Flanders,  into  Holland,  swimming  dykes, 
burning  villages,  and  traveling  with  fire  and  blood,  but 
taking  no  plunder — being  in  too  much  of  a  hurry.  So 
in  twenty-four  hours  we  were  at  Bergen-op-Zoon — ninety 
full  long  English  miles  from  Namur.  Then  we  started 
back — and  this  time  it  was  fire  and  blood  and  plunder 
also.  We  harried  the  country  between  the  Schelde  and 
the  Meuse.  Lanty  was  in  his  element.  He  had  three 
burgomasters  under  ransom  himself,  in  one  day,  and  the 
whole  of  us  had  taken  some  sixty  of  them,  and  bailiffs 
and  magistrates  as  hostages.  Oh,  the  richness  of  the 
country!  Bedad  the  men  got  so  much  silver,  they 
almost  turned  up  their  noses  at  gold,  and  as  for  jewelry 
it  was  nothin'  less  than  diamonds  they'd  look  at  towards 
the  end.  But  word  being  brought  to  the  States  General 
of  our  diviltries,  they  had  detachments  from  the  garri- 
sons of  Antwerp,  and  Ghent,  and  Leige,  and  Brussels, 
and  every  other  place  in  Flanders,  Brabant  and  Holland 
looking  after  us. 

"One  time  we  were  surrounded,  and  divil  a  man  of  us 
would  have  gotten  away  alive,  let  alone  carryin'  off  any 
.booty,  but  our  Colonel  Pasteur  was  the  man  for  the 
emergency,  and  he  asked  for  volunteers  to  disguise 
themselves  as  peasants  and  give  the  surrounding  detach- 
ments wrong  information  of  our  route.  I  would  have 
volunteered  myself  for  this  duty,  but  they  stopped  me 
on  account  of  my  brogue,  which  would  have  betrayed 
me  and  been  the  ruin  of  us.  In  the  excitement  I  had 
forgotten  my  Irish  accent. 

"So  our  volunteers,  disguised  as  Dutch  peasants, 
were  questioned  by  the  enemy  as  to  our  line  of  travel, 
and  gave  'em  such  true  information  they  missed  us 
entirely.  So  we,  coming  down  by  the  way  .of  Lilo, 
crossed  the  Schelde  by  boat,  and  passing  within  five 
miles  of  Brussels,  harrying,  burning,  plundering  and 
ravaging,  at  last  got  deep  into  the  recesses  of  Sonien 
forest. 

"  There  we  camped,  after  three  blessed  days  of  the 
hardest  work  that  mortal  man  ever  endured,  for  one  or 
two  of  the  troopers  had  died  from  fatigue  in  the  saddle; 
and  as  for  the  horses,  if  \\e  had  not  remounted  ourselves 
from  the  Dutch  farmers,  we  would  have  all  been  foot 


30  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

soldiers  by  this  time.  But  our  flesh  and  blood  was  weak 
and  hungry,  and  must  have  rest  and  food. 

"We  were  compelled  to  encamp  for  a  few  hours,  I 
taking  up  my  quarters  in  a  little  farmhouse  along  with 
Captain  Ducroc  and  some  other  officers  of  Pasteur's 
own  regiment.  There  my  adventure  came  upon  me, 
that  changed  me  from  a  soldier  of  fortune  to  a  soldier  of 
misfortune. 

"  Sometimes  I  think  it  was  judgment  upon  me  for 
confiscating  a  gold  communion  service ;  but  that  was 
from  a  Lutheran  church,  so  it  can  hardly  count  against 
me.  Anyhow,  the  Virgin  help  me !  there's  been  a  curse 
on  me  from  that  day  to  this.  Sometimes  I  think  it's 
God's  doings,  and  sometimes  I  feel  it  is  a  man  sneaking 
behind  my  back  and  plotting  my  despair  and  death. "  And 
the  Major's  eyes  glow  as  he  tosses  his  long  hair  back  from 
his  forehead,  like  a  lion  looking  for  the  sulking  savage 
whose  arrow  is  in  his  hide. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE    DUEL    BY    THE    CAMP    FIRE. 

AFTER  a  moment  O'Brien  Dillon  overcomes  his 
emotion  and  goes  hurriedly  on,  as  if  hoping  by  narra- 
tive to  destroy  sentiment. 

"  So  I  came  up  to  the  house  followed  by  Lanty  and  his 
burgomaster  captives — who  had  been  tied  on  horses  to 
keep  them  from  running  away — myself  laden  down 
with  the  gold  I  had  gathered  up  in  the  way  of  cups  and 
plates  and  doubloons  from  many  a  rich  Flemish  village, 
to  say  nothing  of  jewelry,  till  I  felt  myself  more  like  a 
fermier general  than  a  soldier  of  fortune. 

"In  front  of  the  gate  leading  to  the  little  orchard 
stood  a  coach  with  four  horses,  one  of  those  grand  equi- 
pages that  people  of  quality  travel  in. 

"  '  Is  that  some  of  our  plunder,  Lanty?'  says  I,  for 
by  this  time  I  thought  the  whole  world  entirely  was 
mine,  spoils  were  so  piling  up  on  me. 

"Lanty  answers,  'No,  yer  honor,  that's  Captain 
Ducroc's  capture,  and  he's  mighty  proud  of  it,  and  more 
proud  of  what's  inside  of  it. ' 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  31 

"Just  then-Ducroc  stepped  out  of  the  coach,  carry- 
ing a  bag  of  plunder  also,  to  prevent  any  one  else 
robbing  him  of  it,  for  the  whole  command  had  gotten 
so  in  the  way  of  confiscation  that  a  priest  three  days  in 
our  company  would  have  become  athafefrom  very  force 
of  example.  After  the  Captain  stepped  out  a  little 
snivelling  maid  servant,  but,  notwithstanding  the  tears 
in  her  eyes,  very  pretty  in  a  peasant  way. 

"I  was  just  turning  away  to  mind  my  own  business 
when  Ducroc's  voice  caught  me.  He  was  standing  by 
the  side  of  the  carriage,  his  handsome,  wicked  face  blax- 
ing  with  anger,  and  saying  very  much  after  the  manner 
of  the  Sultan  of  Turkey  to  an  odalisque:  'Step  out  of 
the  carriage  at  once,  madame !  Obey  me ! ' 

"  Then,  deeply  veiled,  I  saw  the  figure  of  a  female 
Venus  leave  the  equipage  and  follow  him  into  the  farm- 
house. 

"'  They  killed  the  postilions  and  captured  the  lady 
and  the  coach,  and  it's  full  o'  jewels  and  lots  o'  fine  things, 
only  half  an  hour  ago,  just  off  the  road  leading  from 
Brussels!  '  says  Lanty,  who  always  seems  to  know  other 
people's  business  as  well  as  his  own.  'That  Ducroc, ' 
he  whispers  in  me  ear,  '  is  a  great  brute ! ' 

"Though  I  myself  didn't  like  the  Captain's  manner, 
still,  if  it  had  been  a  peasant  girl,  or  perchance,  a  burgo- 
master's daughter,  I  should  not  have  interfered;  but 
something  in  the  style  of  the  lady's  walk,  something  in 
her  haughty  carriage,  told  me  Ducroc's  captive  was 
more  like  to  be  a  princess  than  anything  else. 

"However,  I  stepped  into  the  farmhouse  and  found 
an  empty  room,  the  other  officers  not  having  come  in 
yet,  being  busied  about  the  proper  care  of  their  booty. 

"  In  the  next  room  was  Ducroc  and  the  lady,  from 
which  I  heard  these  words,  in  a  voice  so  swate  it  went 
to  me  heart  of  hearts:  '  One  thousand  crowns  for  my 
safe  conveyance  into  France ! ' 

"Then  I  heard  Ducroc's  nasty,  dirty,  mean,  rascally 
laugh. 

"Again  the  voice  pleadingly:  ''Five  thousand  crowns 
for  my  safe  conduct  into  France — and  my  blessing — and 
my  prayers. ' 

"Still  Ducroc's  jeering  laugh. 

"  'TEN  THOUSAND!' 


32  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"  But  her  captor 'sneers:  'I  have  so  much  plunder 
already,  mademoiselle,  that  I  care  nothing  for  money — 
only  for  beauty! ' 

"At  this  the  lady's  voice  grew  very  sad  and  very 
desperate,  as  I  heard  her  gasp  in  tones  that  broke  my 
heart:  '  Then  I  kill  myself  ! ' 

"At  which  I  burst  into  the  room,  calling  out: 
'  Ducroc,  come  to  dinner,  me  boy!  Ye've  only  three 
hours  before  we  march  again.  Our  scouts  say  Prince 
Eugene  has  despatched  thirty  squadroons  to  capture  us, 
dead  or  alive.'  Then,  appearing  to  be  astonished,  I 
said:  'Excuse  me — a  lady!  Oh,  naughty  Captain !' 
and  looked  at  her. 

"Oh,  Raymond1  the  form  of  a  Greek  Venus!  Eyes 
blue  as  the  Irish  Sea!  Hair  with  sunset  in  it! 

"As  I  gazed  at  her  I  put  my  hand  on  Ducroc's  shoul- 
der. 'Come  to  dinner,  clear  boy,'  I  said  laughingly. 
'Appetite  first — love  afterwards!  Come — to  dinner!  ' 

"But  I  didn't  mean  dinner,  I  meant  death,  because 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  save  that  poor  despairing 
girl,  or  kill  him  before  we  broke  camp. 

"So  coming  out,  we  sat  down  to  a  very  hasty  and 
impromptu  meal  that  was  served  in  the  little  orchard  by 
the  Flemish  farmer  and  his  trembling  frau.  It  was  a 
pretty  piece  of  greensward  with  a  couple  of  apple  trees 
stuck  in  it  for  ornament.  A  camp  fire  was  blazing  as 
the  sunset  was  coming  on.  This,  as  the  night  was 
cold,  was  surrounded  by  us  officers,  each  with  his 
plunder,  for  safe  keeping,  behind  him,  and  his  servant 
sitting  at  his  hand  and  helping  him  to  wine  and  food. 
Each  man  taking  his  master's  leavings  for  himself — 
Lanty  doing  the  same  by  me. 

"There  were  some  eight  or  ten  of  us  now,  and  the 
wine  flowed  fast,  and  all  the  time  I  kept  my  eye  on 
Ducroc  to  see  he  didn't  leave  us. 

"Then  eating  being  finished  and  only  drinking  going 
on,  I  proposed  dice,  for  I  knew  Ducroc's  weakness. 
He  ha^d  all  the  vices,  but  he  loved  gambling  the  most. 

"The  stakes  were  very  high,  for  every  man  of  us 
thought  himself  a  Crcesus,  and  as  the  bottle  passed  and 
repassed,  they  grew  higher  and  higher. 

"I  wagered  two  golden  goblets  for  me  first  throw, 
and  won.  Lanty  grabbed  up  me  winnings  mighty  quick 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  33 

and  piled  them  up  behind  me  for  safety.  Soon  the 
game  grew  desperate,  and  by  the  blessing  of  Heaven  I 
was  very  lucky,  and  in  a  couple  of  hours,  by  continuous 
throwing,  I  had  won  from  the  rest  enough  to  make 
them  drop  out,  and  from  Ducroc  every  bit  of  plunder 
he  had  stolen  in  our  three  days'  foray,  and  he  had  done 
more  than  his  share. 

"  'Have  ye  anything  else  ye'd  like  to  lose,  Captain?' 
said  I,  easily,  with  a  little  laligh,  which  made  him  angry. 

"  'That  coach  and  four  horses! '  cried  he  desperately, 
pointing  to  the  equipage.  Then  he  muttered  to 
himself:  'She  can  ride  behind  me! ' 

"  '  Five  hundred  crowns  agin'  them,  if  ye  like! ' 

"Up  they  went! 

"  Again  I  won! 

"  He  looked  around  for  more  to  stake,  for  he'd  have 
played  for  his  life  by  this  time,  if  any  one  had  valued  it 
save  himself.  After  an  instant  he  muttered,  '  The 
trunks  containing  her  dresses.  The  clothes  she  has  on 
now  will  last  her  my  time.' 

"  'Faith!  ye're  about  right,  thinks  I,  Captain  Ducroc. 
But  I  only  remarked,  '  Two  diamond  rings  and  a  couple 
of  hundred  crowns  against  them.' 

"  '  All  right,'  said  he. 

"Then,  a  flambeau  being  brought,  for  it  was  very 
dark  now,  and  the  only  light  we  had  was  from  the  camp 
fire,  the  game  went  on. 

"  'Three  sixes  and  a  deuce,'  said  he. 

"  '  Four  fives! '  cried  I,  and  Lanty  gave  a  yell  of  joy 
and  gathered  in  the  stakes.  • 

"  -'  Have  ye  anything  else  ? '  I  said. 

"  '  My  horse  and  accoutrements,'  he  groaned.  '  She 
can  walk  as  well  as  I.' 

"  'Against  this  diamond  ring?' 

"  'If  you  add  one  hundred  crowns  to  it.' 

"  '  Done!  '  says  I,  'but  you  like  more  than  the  worth 
of  your  money. ' 

"  Agin  I  won. 

"'Have  ye  anything  else  ye'd  like  to  lose  very 
quick  ? '  I  laughed.  I  was  bantering  him  and  he  was 
growing  savage  and  desperate.  Finally  he  says  '  YES.' 

"  'What?' 

"  'The  girl  in  the  house.' 


34  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"'The  servant  maid?  Lanty  might  gamble  with 
you  for  her.' 

"  '  No!  the  mistress.' 

"  '  She's  not  worth  much.  She  will  only  bother  me 
to  get  her  away.  She's  too  delicate  a  piece  of 
merchandise,'  says  I,  trying  to  appear  unconcerned. 

"'You've  seen  her.  You  know  how  beautiful  she 
is,'  he  answered.  '  What  will  you  put  against  her? ' 

"  I  was  going  to  say  '  everything  I  have  in  the  world,' 
but  I  restrained  myself  and  laughed.  '  Would  one 
hundred  crowns  please  ye  ? ' 

"  'One  hundred  crowns!  '  he  cried.  '  Bring  her  out. 
Let  him  look  on  her  beauty.  She  is  worth  ten 
thousand.' 

"  The  other  officers  applauded  this  idea. 

"I  said  nothing.  I  had  a  guess  she'd  like  to  see  me 
kill  him,  and  I  was  pretty  sure  the  sword  would  follow 
the  dice  box,  Ducroc  was  in  such  a  divilish  humor. 

"So  they  led  her  out,  she  looking  like  an  old  picture 
I  had  seen  in  a  monastery  in  Ghent  of  Bordicea  when 
the  Romans  captured  her.  If  glances  would  have 
stabbed,  her  eyes  would  have  been  the  death  of  every 
man  of  us  round  the  camp  fire.  But  after  one  fierce 
look  she  gave  a  sigh  and  stood  before  us  having  the 
beauty  of  a  despairing  goddess.  Then  the  flickering 
fire  lit  up  her  face,  and  there  was  a  cry  of  admiration 
from  every  man  of  them. 

"  '  Gintlemen,'  said  I,  '  I  intind  to  win  this  lady,  but 
I  won't  shame  her  by  valuing  charms  that  are  inesti- 
mable.' 

"At  this  she  muttered,  wringing  her  hands,  'Diced 
for  as  a  slave,'  and,  growing  cold  and  haughty  as  a 
martyred  saint,  drooped  her  lovely  eyes,  and  the  rosf  s 
on  her  cheeks  became  lillies. 

"So  I  said  hurriedly,  'Make  my  bet  for  me, 
gintlemen,  and  put  it  high. ' 

"  They  decided  that  I  must  risk  all  I  had  won  against 
her. 

"'Murdher!  she's  not  worth  that  much,'  shrieked 
Lanty. 

"'Shut  your  lying  mouth,  ye  scoundrel!'  cried  I. 
'  She's  worth  the  earth  to  me.' 

"  So  we  prepared  to  throw.   My  heart  was  in  my  mouth 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  35 

as  Ducroc  handled  the  dice,  but  Lanty  whispered  in  my 
ear:  'Look  out!  he's  chatin'!  he's  changin'  the  bones  on 
ye!' 

"Then  I  knew  I  had  him. 

"  Even  as  he  made  his  throw — four  infernal  sixes — I 
put  my  hands  on  the  dice  and  said:  'Captain  Ducroc, 
ye're  a  chate  and  a  scoundrel !  ' 

"With  that  he  sprung,  not  for  my  throat,  but  for  the 
dice  that  would  prove  my  words;  but  I  held  him  off 
with  one  hand  on  his  gizzard,  and  tossed  the  cubes  to 
the  officers  gathered  round,  and  they,  testing  them, 
gave  a  gasp  of  horror.  Robbers  that  they  were, 
they  could  not  stomach  a  gintleman's  chatin'  at  the 
gambling  table ;  so  they  declared  me  the  man  of  honor 
— the  victor! 

"  '  Not  yet ! '  gasps  Ducroc,  and  in  a  second  his  sword 
was  out.  But  mine  was  out,  too,  and  parried  his  first 
wild  lunge. 

"  In  a  moment  our  blades  were  knocked  up  by  the 
others ;  «but  after  a  little  consultation  they  decided  it 
best  for  us  to  fight  it  out. 

"  I  might  have  stood  on  me  honor,  for  he  had  been 
caught  chatin',  but  we  didn't  care  very  much  for  eti- 
quette when  on  a  foray  in  Flanders.  Besides,  I 
thought  for  her  sake  that  he  had  better  be  out  of  the 
way. 

"  As  we  threw  off  our  cuirasses  and  cavalry  jackets 
my  second,  as  he  handed  me  "my  sword,  whispered: 
"  Dillon,  beware  his  lunge  over  the  arm.  Ducroc  is  the 
deadliest  swordsman  m  the  army  of  the  Rhine.' ' 

"And  Lanty  hearing  this  commenced  to  wring  his 
hands  and  groan.  But  just  before  we  engaged  he  said 
to  my  ear:  '  P!ay  him  quiet,  Major  dear,  for  God's  sake, 
till  I  flash  the  blaze  in  his  face! ' 

"I  couldn't  understand  his  hint,  for  divil  a  blaze 
could  I  see  as  Ducroc  and  I  faced  each  other!  The 
camp  fire  had  smouldered  down  to  ashes  and  embers. 

"  Then  in  the  half  darkness  our  blades  crossed.  Never 
had  I  faced  such  a  fencer!  Time  after  time  I  tried 
each  trick  of  the  sword  I  knew — ami  it  7c'>rs  parried ! 
Before  me  was  ;i  wrist  of  steel  springs,  an  arm  of  iron 
and  riposte  quicker  than  lightning  and  every  time  his 
point  came  straight  for  my  heart. 


36  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

"  It  was  like  fighting  with  a  ghost,  as  we  moved  about 
in  the  dim  glow  of  the  camp  fire. 

"  I  was  growing  tired.  Ducroc  was  smiling  a  deadly, 
cold,  victorious  smile.  The  perspiration  of  despair  was 
on  me  as  I  thought  of  the  girl's  fate  with  me  dead. 

"  The  glare  of  the  flickering  camp  fire  scarcely  flashes 
on  our  dancing  blades.  Then  Lanty  whispers:  '  Get  the 
wind  at  your  back,  Major  dear,  before  he  finishes  ye!  ' 

"  With  a  last  effort  I  circled  round  the  fire  till  I  felt 
the  breeze  cool  the  back  of  my  burning  neck. 

"Suddenly  Lanty  throws  a  heavy  branch  of  wood  on 
to  the  embers.  Up  flashes  the  blaze  blown  by  the  wind 
into  Ducroc's  triumphant  eyes! 

"With  that  flash  I  lunge — my  one  last  trick  en  tierce; 
for  one  second  the  glimmer  dazes  him,  and  in  that  sec- 
ond I  run  Ducroc  through  the  body  up  to  my  sword  hilt, 
as  dead  a  man  as  ever  died  in  uniform. 

"  Disengaging  my  blade  the  warrior  became  the  cour- 
tier. I  stepped  to  the  captive  of  me  dice  box  and  me 
sword,  who  had  looked  on,  her  beautiful  eyes  dazed  with 
horror,  and  making  her  a  bow  in  my  neatest  style,  said : 
'  Madam,  honor  me  by  considering  me  your  brother  till 
I  have  the  pleasure  of  placing  you  safe  in  France  !' 

"At  the  word  'brother, '  there  was  a  snicker  from 
some  of  the  wild  young  divils  of  cavalry  officers;  but  I 
soon  stopped  that  nonsense  by  adding:  'And  the  man 
who  doesn't  treat  ye  as  if  ye  were  the  sister  of  O'Brien 
Dillon,  ANSWERS  TO  ME  WITH  HIS  LIFE!  '  for  the  dacent 
ones  among  us  respected  me  sentiments,  and  the 
others  me  lunge  en  tierce. 

"The  girl  looked  at  me  with  unbelieving,  astonished 
eyes.  Finally  she  muttered :  '  Ye  heard  my  offer  to  that 
dead  ruffian?' 

"  'Yes! ' 

"  '  You  will  take  me  safe  to  France?'  she  faltered,  '  for 
ten  thousand  crowns?'  turning  such  grateful  eyes  on  me 
that  their  beauty  caused  me  to  anticipate  myself. 

"  'Yes,'  cried  I,  '  but  not  for  ten  thousand  crowns, nor 
twenty  thousand — but  only  for  one  smile  from  your  pret- 
ty face!'  Then  I  whispered,  'And  one  little  'yes*  from 
your  swate  lips,  for  by  the  blessing  of  God  and  the  bless- 
ing of  the  priest,  I'll  make  ye  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  as 
soon  as  we  cross  the  frontier!' 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  37 

"Then  oh  the  blushes  of  her!  Rosebuds  were  lillies 
to  her  cheeks.  But  the  next  moment  she  grew  very 
pale,  and  commanding  herself,  she  placed  a  little  confid- 
ing, though  trembling  hand  in  mine,  and  answered : 
'  Swear  to  make  good  your  promise ! ' 

"  '  I  made  you  two  promises! '  said  I,  '  one  to  get  you 
safe  to  the  French  lines,  and  the  other  to  make  you 
Madame  O'Brien  Dillon.  And  by  my  sword  I'll  make 
'em  both  good!' 

"  At  this  she  hung  her  head. 

"So  to  put  away  her  embarrassment,  I  playfully 
remarked:  'Just  tell  me  your  present  name,  sweetheart, 
so  I  can  address  ye  convaniently  until  after  the  cere- 
mony.' 

"  But  at  this  time  the  bugle  interfered  with  my  love- 
making,  sounding:  'Boots  and  saddles!'  and  I  had  only 
time  to  put  her  into  the  coach,  to  which  Lanty  had  har- 
nessed the  four  horses. 

"But  as  he  was  bringing  out  the  maid  servant,  and 
took  some  little  time  to  do  it,  the  rascal,  I  got  two 
more  seconds  with  my  sweetheart.  So  I  suddenly  gave 
her  two  lover's  kisses,  whispering,  'I  haven't  time  to 
talk  to  ye  now,  darling,  so  keep  these  for  me,  and  be 
sure  ye  return  them  at  the  next  stopping  place. ' 

"  Then  away  we  went  again,  I  riding  alongside  of  my 
lady  love's  coach,  like  a  knight  of  old.  And  by  the 
blessing  of  God,  that  night  we  escaped  from  and  out- 
marched the  thirty  squadroons  of  dragoons  Prince  Eugene 
had  sent  after  us,  for  with  such  a  treasure  in  my  posses- 
sion I  was  mortally  afraid  of  meeting  the  enemy 
then. 

"  That  very  march  we  got  into  Namur,  about  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  There  I  had  a  little  talk  with 
her,  tired  as  I  was,  having  hardly  closed  my  eyes  for 
four  days. 

"  Then  she  told  me  her  name  was  Hilda  Van  Hoist, 
and  that  her  father  and  mother  were  both  dead. 

"  'God  bless  'em! 'laughed  I.  'I  always  loved  orphans!' 
for  her  beauty  made  me  crazy  with  joy  at  me  luck. 

"  Next  she  informed  me  her  uncle  was  a  great  banker 
and  money  changer,  one  John  Lauriston  (hesitating  a 
little  over  the  name),  a  Scotc.hman,  her  mother  having 
come  from  that  country;  that  her  uncle  was  in  Paris, 


38  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

where  she  was  journeying  to  join  him,  when  to  her 
astonishment,  she  was  captured  but  a  few  miles  out  of 
Brussels.  Then  she  begged  me  as  I  loved  my  mother,  to 
remember  my  words  to  her,  and  to  take  her  safe  to 
France  unharmed  and  scathless. 

"  'There's  no  need  of  remembering  my  mother,'  says 
I,  'when  I  look  at  ye  !  By  the  body  of  St.  Peter,  I'd 
take  the  future  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  through  all  the 
dangers  of  both  armies,  safe  into  France!  Now,  since 
ye  won't  return  me  the  two  kisses  I  gave  ye,'  for  she 
was  very  bashful  and  blushing,  which  only  added  to  her 
charm  and  her  beauty,  '  I'll  add  two  more  to  the 
account!'  Which  I  did,  and  came  from  her  presence 
happy  as  a  gineral  after  he  has  captured  a  town. 

"In  the  ante-room  of  the  inn  I  met  Mr.  Lanty. 

"  '  What  are  ye  doing  here  ?'  says  I. 

"  'Like  master,  like  man!  '  answers  he.  'The  future 
Mrs.  O'Brien  Dillon  has  a  very  pretty  maid  servant — 
one  Rosalie  Lutin.' 

"Then  he  says  to  me:  '  By  me  soul,  Major!  never  let 
your  lady  get  away  from  ye !  Rosalie  tells  me  her 
mistress  is  a  member  of  the  very  richest  trading  family 
in  Europe.  They've  more  money  than  dukes.' 

"But  love  was  in  my  soul,  and  I  wasn't  thinking  of 
lucre. 

"Two  days  afterwards  I  got  my  sweetheart  safe 
through  the  lines,  and  put  her  down  in  the  little  town 
of  Aries,  five  leagues  to  the  rear  of  DoQay,  in  as  elegant 
quarters  as  any  lady  of  the  place,  for  I  had  come  back 
a  rich  man  from  my  spoilation  of  the  Low  Countries. 

"From  there  Hilda  would  have  journeyed  on  direct 
to  Paris,  but  I  didn't  propose  my  darling  should  get  any 
further  from  me,  so  Lanty  and  I,  during  the  journey, 
had  taken  possession  of  all  the  future  Madame  O'Brien 
Dillon's  baggage  and  wealth,  I  leading  her  to  suppose 
they  had  been  lost  in  a  desperate  fight  with  out-posts. 

"In  fact,  I  only  saved  for  her,  according  to  my  account, 
two  dresses,  for  the  clothes  Hilda  wore  were  of  such 
superior  quality  and  richness  that  I  was  frightened  she 
might  pawn  one  or  two  of  them,  and  get  money  enough 
to  take  her  on  her  way.  And  as  I  considered  myself  even 
at  that  time  not  only  her  protector,  but  her  lord  and 
master  as  well,  I  said  the  future  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon 


A     PRINCKSS     ol'     PARIS.  39 

should  take  no  more  journeys  without  me  by  her 
side. 

"Then  she  forwarded  a  letter  by  post  to  her  uncle  in 
Paris,  telling  him  of  her  whereabouts,  and  asking  him 
for  money  and  instructions  as  to  how  she  should  reach 
him.  This  was  addressed  to  John  Lauriston,  care 
Monsieur  Poisson,  Rue  Dauphin,  Paris. 

"About  this  time  we  cavalrymen  were  having  easy  work 
of  it,  the  infantry  being  very  busy  with  the  siege  of 
1  )ouay,  which  was  getting  along  very  nicely.  Day 
after  day  and  evening  after  evening,  I  journeyed 
from  our  lines  to  visit  my  sweetheart,  and  press  her 
promise  upon  her. 

"But  she  put  me  off,  urging  that  she  must  have  her 
guardian's  consent,  but  not  to  doubt  her — for  the  faith 
of  Heaven — not  to  doubt  her.  Was  I  not  her  savior, 
her  preserver,  her  dear  champion,  her  beloved  knight? 

"Every  time  I  saw  her  she  seemed  more  beauti- 
ful than  ever,  the  fatigue  of  the  journey  having 
gone  from  her  face,  and  the  two  dresses  I  had  left  her 
being  of  silk  brocade,  and  furbelows  worthy  of  a  princess 
of  the  blood.  She  was  only  nineteen,  with  the  figure  of  a 
sylph,  and  the  beauty  of  a  saint  and  a  siren  combined; 
hand,  arms  and  neck  soft  and  white  as  swan's  down, 
and  a  pair  of  feet  and  ankles  that  for'smallness  and 
beauty  couldn't  be  matched  this  side  of  Seville. 

"After  a  few  days  my  heart  getting  sick  with  delay - 
mg,  I  suggested  would  she  postpone  the  great  honor  of 
becoming  an  O'Brien  Dillon,  waiting  for  the  word  of  a 
gold  broker  or  money  changer?  '  Don't  keep  me  long- 
ing, darling!  Let  me  elevate  you  to  the  rank  of  a 
major's  bride,'  whispered  I  into  the  delicate  mother-of- 
pearl  ear  she  turned  to  me. 

"Then  she  astounded  me.  She  answered,  proud  as 
a  peacock:  'Have  I  not  rank?  Am  I  not  the  niece  of 
one  of  the  richest  men  in  Europe?  Mv  UNCLE  is  THE 

GRKATKST    BANKER   IN    THE    WORM)!' 

"At  which  I  had  to  fight  down  a  laugh.  Bankersand 
the  O'Brien  Dillons! 

"But  Hilda  declared  to  me  her  uncle  was  a  very 
great  man.  That  he  had  been  the  foremost  jeweler  and 
banker  in  London,  until  he  had  killed  his  man  in  a  duel 
(which  did  him  more  honor  than  the  banking,  I  think). 


4O  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

As  his  opponent  had  been  a  lord,  he  had  been  compelled 
to  leave  England,  and  was  now  engaged  in  financial 
operations  for  his  Majesty  of  France. 

"  Sometimes  I  thought  by  the  way  she  hesitated  over 
her  uncle's  name  that  Lauriston  was  an  assumed  cog- 
nomen for  some  purpose  or  other. 

"But,  though  I  argued  my  case  like  a  Dublin  attorney, 
again  she  put  me  off,  and  that  evening  Lanty  discovered 
from  Rosalie  (he  courting  the  maid  while  I  courted  the 
mistress),  that  Hilda  had  again  sent  another  post  marked 
'  Very  urgent '  to  her  uncle  in  Paris. 

"This  time  I  determined  to  bring  matters  to  a  head, 
for  her  beauty  was  so  great  she  could  not  walk  the  street 
without  being  noticed,  and  a  number  of  the  officers — 
dashing  Versailles  dandies  from  the  headquarters  of  the 
Marechal,  the  Due  de  Villars — were  commencing  to  put 
their  eyes  upon  her,  and  these  glances,  I  had  a  horrible 
thought,  were  returned. 

"  So  a  few  mornings  afterwards  I  said:  '  Have  ye  no 
dispatches  from  your  uncle  yet?" 

"  '  No!'  answered  she. 

"The  next  day  I  asked  the  same  question,  with  the 
same  reply.  Her  uncle's  silence  seemed  to  anger  her, 
at  which  I  chuckled. 

"Then  I  became  as  impassioned  as  young  Romeo  in 
the  play,  and  she  said  to  me:  '  My  uncle  cares  not  for 
me,  or  my  future.  I  place  them  in  your  hands!' 

"  '  Done!'  cried  I,  and  astounded  her  by  bolting  from 
the  room. 

"  In  five  minutes  I  was  back  again,  and  at  me  heels 
a  priest,  the  sight  of  whom  gave  her  a  great  start, 
and  she  faltered :  '  A  day  or  two  longer — a  little  more 
time!' 

"  '  Now  /'  cried  I,  for  I  saw  she  was  a  woman  to  be 
won  like  some  fortresses — by  quick  assault,  not  by  slow 
capitulation. 

"Me  impetuosity  overpowered  her,  and  though  she 
pleaded  for  just  another  day,  I  said :  '  The  priest  doesn't 
leave  the  room  alive  until  ye  are  Madame  O'Brien 
Dillon!' 

"NEITHER  HE  DID! 

"And  oh  the  joy  of  it!  After  she  had  given  herself 
to  me,  and  became  me  wife,  I  thought  I  had  an  angel, 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  41 

and  my    two    days'    honeymoon    was    the    delight   of 
O'Brien  Dillon's  heart!  " 

As  he  says  the  last  there  are  tears  in  the  Irish  soldier 
of  fortune's  eyes. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

UNCLE  JOHNNY. 

A  MOMENT  after  he  tosses  tears  and  emotion  aside  by 
a  hurried  dash  of  his  hand  across  his  face  and  goes 
rapidly  on  with  his  narrative. 

"  But  the  third  evening,  riding  in  from  my  quarters 
before  Douay,  I  met  Hilda  walking  with  her  maid,  at  the 
outskirts  of  the  town. 

"  Pale  and  trembling  she  said:  '  I  have  come  here  to 
intercept  you,  dear  O'Brien,  before  you  see  my  uncle.' 

"  'He  is  here  ?' 

"  'Yes.' 

"  '  Well,  he's  come  the  day  after  the  Fair,'  laughed  I, 
chucking  her  under  her  pretty  little  chin,  after  the 
pleasant  manner  of  a  fond  and  doting  husband. 

"'Yes,'  murmured  she,  'he  received  neither  of 
my  packets  until  four  days  ago,  being  absent  in  Italy  on 
business  of  his  Majesty.  Then  he  came  quickly  to  me. 
Don't  tell  him  of  our  marriage! ' 

"  '  Why  not  ? '  said  I.  '  Ye're  not  ashamed  of  being 
Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  ? ' 

"'No!  but  Uncle  John  will  not  like  it!  From  the 
words  he  has  even  now  dropped,  he  has  other  views  for 
me — more  ambitious  ones! ' 

"  'More  ambitious  than  to  make  ye  one  of  the  House 
of  O'Brien  Dillon  ?.'  answered  I.  '  Faith,  where  will  ye 
find  a  finer  family  ? ' 

"  But  she  reasoned  and  plead  with  me,  and  begged  in 
the  sweetest  voice  in  the  world,  '  Not  for  a  day  or  two! ' 
and  I  agreed. 

"By  this  time  we  had  come   into   the   house.      Here 
she  introduced  me  as  her  preserver,  to  a  man,  the  like 
of  whom  I  have  never  seen  before,  and  God  help  me!   I 
hope  I'll  never   see  again.      Not  that   he   wasn't  haiul 
some — not   that    his    features    didn't    have    more    the 


42  A    .PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

expression  of  a  general  than  a  tradesman.  Not  that 
his  manners  were  not  more  those  of  a  duke  than  a  bour- 
geois— for  he  had  as  pretty  a  style  as  ye'd  see  in  any 
court  of  Europe.  In  fact,  from  his  communications  to 
me  afterwards,  I  judged  he  had  seen  most  of  them.  But 
there  was  a  subtle  something  about  him — something 
always  behind  his  grayish  eyes,  that  for  the  life  of  me  I 
could  not  make  out,  and  I  am  never  partial  to  the 
unknown. 

"  He  had  brought  quite  a  retinue  with  him  from 
Paris,  a  couple  of  postilions  and  an  Italian  valet  with 
whom  Lanty  took  up  very  rapidly.  Besides  that  he  had 
his  own  table  service  with  him ;  silver  and  gold  more 
suited  to  a  prince  of  the  blood  than  to  a  tradesman. 
He  had  also  selected  the  best  accommodation  in  the  Inn, 
and  as  he  was  very  free  and  liberal  with  his  money,  the 
landlord  and  all  the  serving  people  about  ran  to  his  beck 
and  call  like  drummer  boys  after  the  drum-major. 

'  'He  appeared  to  take  a  liking  to  me ;  insinuated  I  was  a 
fine  fellow,  a  brave  man,  and  as  fine  a  gintleman  in  my  uni- 
form as  he  had  ever  seen  at  the  Courts  of  St.  James  or 
Versailles,  and  lots  of  other  things  that  pleased  me  very 
much.  We  soon  became  great  cronies,  Monsieur 
Lauriston  remarking  that  he  should  remain  for  a  few  days 
in  Aries  to  rest  after  the  dust  of  posting  over  country 
roads. 

"  '  My  niece,'  he  says,  '  has  told  me  all  about  ye! ' 
At  which  I  couldn't  help  chuckling  to  myself,  enjoying 
Hilda's  roguish  blushes. 

"So  that  evening  the  bottle  passed  between  us 
pretty  steadily,  and  we  fell  to  gambling,  for  he  was  the 
grandest  gambler  I  ever  met  in  me  life.  We  had  a 
great  night  of  it.  He  told  me  more  stories  of  court 
life  than  I  had  ever  heard  before.  And  by  my  faith  he 
seemed  to  know  counts,  marquises,  dukes,'  princes  and 
even  kings — not  as  their  servant  and  man  of  affairs, 
but  as  their  intimate  friend  and  dearly  beloved.  Then 
he  discussed  finance,  as  if  he  knew  all  about  it — as  I 
think  he  must  have,  for  divil  a  wrap  did  he  seem  to 
respect  a  million  than  I  would  a  livre.  Altogether  he 
was  so  oily,  subtle,  and  insinuating  that  he  was  fit  to  be 
a  diplomatist  to  the  Turks,  and  they  are  the  greatest 
liars  in  Europe.  Travelers  have  told  me  that  the 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  43 

Chinese  and  Russians  beat  'em,  but  they  are  barbarians, 
and  don't  count. 

"But  the  next  day,  as  1  was  dressing  to  ride  over, 
Lanty,  who  had  brought  in  me  shaving  water,  had  tears 
in  his  eyes.  '  What  are  ye  crying  for,  ye  great 
gossoon?'  growled  I. 

"  'Rosalie!'  muttered  he,  for  the  lad  was  very  much 
in  love  with  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon's  maid  servant. 

"  '  What's  the  matter  with  her?'  I  asked. 

"  '  She's  going  away  to  Paris!' 

"  '  Not  till  I  and  her  mistress  go!' 

"  'But  Rosalie  told  me  her  mistress  was  going  to-day. 
Shure  didn't  yer  Honor  know?' 

"'Pooh!  Nonsense!  '  said  I.  'It's  the  uncle  that's 
going — not  the  niece.  Ye've  been  drinking  brandy, 
Mr.  Lanty!' 

"Though  I  kept  my  lips  from  trembling,  I  felt  as  if 
I  needed  brandy  myself,  and  as  1  poured  out  my  glass, 
the  bottle  rattled  against  it,  the  hand  of  O'Brien  Dillon 
shaking  for  the  first  time  in  his  life; — because  a  sudden 
fear  had  come  into  me  that  my  Hilda,  the  wife  of  my 
bosom,  might  be  desavin'  me. 

"But  it  was  'Boots  and  Saddles!'  with  me  very 
quickly,  and  I  galloped  to  Aries,  nearly  killing  my  horse, 
and  got  there  long  before  I  was  expected,  for  Uncle 
Lauriston  apparently  didn't  enjoy  my  coming. 

"However,  we  chatted  and  gambled  a  little,  and  all 
that  day  I  waited,  though  once  or  twice  my  considerate 
uncle  hinted  I  might  be  expected  at  the  camp. 

"Though  I  sat  on  and  on,  I  never  had  a  chance  of  a 
word  in  private  with  Madame  Dillon,  who  looked  at  im- 
a  little  nervously,  I  thought. 

"  Finally  like  a  flash  it  came  out! 

"Monsieur  Lauriston's  valet  entered  and  said  hur- 
riedly: '  Your  trunks  and  your  niece's  are  ready!  Tin- 
coach  will  be  at-  the  door  in  half  an  hour. ' 

"  '  To  go  where  ?'  said  I. 

"'To  Paris!'  remarked  the  uncle,  growing  slightly 
pale,  I  thought,  about  the  gills. 

"  'Then  I  hope  ye'll  have  a  pleasant  journey!'  remarked 
I  with  an  easy  off-hand  manner,  for  perhaps  I  had 
been  drinking  a  little  brandy  between  times  to  krrp  me 


44  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

spirits  up,  'And  I  and  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  will  wish 
you  a  very  pleasant  journey  ! ' 

"•'•Madame  O'Brien  Dillon?'  said  he.  'I  did  not 
know  you  were  married.  Is  she  in  town  ? ' 

"'Faith!'  said  I,  'she's  by  your  side,  and  looking 
very  red  and  blushing  now.  Permit  me  to  have  the 
honor  of  introducing  her,  and  asking  your  blessing. 
Make  a  courtesy  to  your  uncle,  Mrs.  O'Brien  Dillon.' 

"Which,  plucking  up  courage,  she  did. 

"  Then  he  laughed,  and  said :  '  Bless  ye,  my  children  !' 
though  there  was  a  kind  of  a  crack  in  his  voice.  With 
that  he  went  on  smiling  and  affirmed  he  had  known  it 
ever  since  he  arrived  in  town.  That  his  niece's  maid 
had  felt  it  upon  her  conscience  to  tell  him,  and  that  he 
liked  me  very  much,  and  he  blessed  us  with  all  his  heart! 

"Just  as  he  was  saying  this,  in  runs  Mademoiselle 
Rosalie    herself,    crying    hurriedly:      'Your   traveling- 
dress — '   but  the  look  on  my  bride's  face  stopped  her. 
Then  something  awful  got  into  me. 

"Up  I  rose  and  remarked :  '  Permit  me  to  conduct  ye 
to  your  room,  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon ! '  offering  my  arm 
in  my  politest  manner.  '  I  would  like  a  few  words  with  ye ! ' 

"Her  uncle  was  about  to  interpose,  but  I  added: 
'Your  authority  ceased  when  the  church  gave  me  mine! 
Make  way  for  me,  sir! '  and  I  put  me  hand  on  me  sword 
and  me  voice  was  as  commanding  as  when  I  cry 
'  Charge ! '  to  a  battalion. 

"Something  in  my  eye  caused  Hilda  to  obey  me. 
She  took  my  arm  and  walked  with  me  to  her  chamber, 
though  her  steps  were  faltering  and  I  noticed  the 
little  hand  on  my  arm  trembled  as  I  closed  the  door 
behind  us  and  turned  the  key  in  the  lock. 

"Then  another  shock  went  through  me,  for  laid 
out  for  use  was  the  traveling  dress  I  had  first  seen 
her  in.  'One  question,  Hilda,'  said  I,  'and  answer  it 
true,  or,  by  me  soul!  when  I  go  to  the  front,  I'll  lock 
you  up  in  a  convent.  I  know  an  abbess  who  will  keep 
you  safe  for  me  until  my  return !  Were  ye  going  to 
desert  me? ' 

"Perhaps  what  came  after  was  a  judgment  on  me 
for  my  stern  words — the  first  ones  I  had  ever  used  to 
her — but  the  thought  that  the  wife  of  my  bosom  might 
be  desaving  me,  made  me  almost  out  of  my  reason. 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  45 

"  On  this  she  uttered  a  cry:  '  Desert  you?  Leave  you? 
Go  to  Paris  without  your  consent — without  your  per- 
mission, husband  of  my  heart?'  Then  she  fell  on  me 
neck  with  loving  kisses  and  tender  tears  and  a  beauty 
that  could  turn  a  man's  head  by  a  glance,  till  I  laugh- 
ingly said:  '  How  about  the  traveling  dress?'  for  I  was 
very  easily  cajoled  by  her  eyes — which  were  dark  when 
full  of  passion ;  blue  when  merry. 

' '  'Oh,  that?'  she  laughed.  'That  is  the  one  upon  which 
I  was  showing  my  uncle  the  blood  of  the  man  who  had 
insulted  me — Captain  Ducroc — the  man  against  whom 
you  risked  your  life  for  me  that  night.  These  drops  fell 
from  your  sword,  dear  husband,  as  you  first  told  me 
that  you  loved  me ! ' 

"Her  words  made  me  happier  than  a  field  marshal. 
I  ran  back,  laughing,  and  clapped  old  Lauriston  on 
the  shoulder. 

"Then  he  laughed  back  at  rne,  and  said:  '  I  must 
go  on  my  way  now,  nephew,  but  I  thank  Heaven  I'm 
leaving  my  niece  with  a  husband  that  has  the  spirit  to 
command  her.  You'll  find  her  a  little  wayward,  me 
boy ! '  A  moment  later  he  asked :  '  Have  you  con- 
sidered when  you  go  to  the  front,  and  I'm  far  away, 
who'll  take  care  of  Hilda? ' 

"  '  Perhaps,  then,  I'll  send  her  to  Paris  to  you,'  said 
I,  with  a  grin,  'and  let  her  play  the  fine  lady  at  court.' 

"'Have  you  money  enough  for  that?'  he  queried, 
rather  eagerly. 

"  'Money  enough  to  give  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  a 
coach  and  four!'  I  cried.  'I  have  sixty  thousand 
crowns  on  deposit  with  the  Commissary  General — me 
spoil  of  the  Low  Countries! ' 

"On  this  information  we  had  a  glass  together,  so  I 
told  him  how  I  had  won  not  only  the  booty  of  Captain 
Ducroc,  but  how  Lanty  and  I  had  pillaged  from  his 
niece  something  like  twenty  thousand  crowns' worth  of 
jewelry  and  grxvgaws  to  compel  the  future  Madame 
O'Brien  Dillon  to  keep  IKT  bargain  with  me,  and  pre- 
vent her  running  away  to  him  in  Paris. 

"As  I  told  him  of  all  the  money  I  had,  a  peculiar 
subtle  something  came  into  his  face — something  that 


46  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

might  have  warned  anyone  but  a  fool  made  confiding  by 
too  great  happiness. 

"A  few  minutes  after,  a  packet  was  brought  to  Mon- 
sieur Lauriston  from  Paris,  upon  reading  which  he  said 
that  there  was  no  need  of  haste  and  he  would  remain  a 
day  or  two  longer  with  us,  to  see  what  a  happy  family 
we  made,  ordering  his  coach  to  be  put  back  in  the 
stable. 

"  That  evening  my  uncle  remarked  he  should  like  to 
take  his  niece,  with  my  permission,  to  Valenciennes  for 
a  day  or  two,  before  returning  to  Paris. 

'To  Valenciennes? '  said  I.     '  That  is  almost  in  the 
enemy's  country.' 

"  '  Oh,  no! '  replied  he,  '  Valenciennes  is  not  in  their 
lines.  Besides  I  have  heard  the  Austrians  are  gradually 
being  driven  back  by  your  brave  soldiers! ' 

"  'There's  no  doubt  of  that,'  returned  I,  'but  I  don't 
think  it's  exactly  the  place  to  risk  Madame  O'Brien 
Dillon ! ' 

"  But  he  overcame  my  objections,  saying  he  had  a 
very  beautiful  chateau  near  the  town  as  well  as  a  little 
business  to  transact  there.  That  now  he  was  near  gave 
him  the  opportunity. 

"  '  You're  not  afraid  of  visiting  your  wife  there,  eh, 
Major  O'Brien  Dillon?  '  laughed  he. 

"I  said:  'I'm  not  afraid  of  visiting  my  wife  in — in 
Heaven !  '  I  changed  the  word  as  I  said  it ;  the  name  of 
the  hotter  place  was  first  on  me  tongue. 

"  So  the  next  day,  after  I  had  obtained  leave,  we 
journeyed  to  Valenciennes,  and  made  a  very  pleasant 
day  of  it  there,  taking  a  promenade  of  the  town,  where  I 
purchased  some  of  that  lace  that  women  wear  out  their 
eyes  making,  to  adorn  the  beautiful  figure  of  my  bride, 
whose  looks  were  swater  and  more  alluring  and  siren- 
like  than  ever  before. 

"By  the  blessing  of  Heaven  I  had  taken  with  me 
Lanty,  who  was  as  much  in  love  with  the  maid  Rosalie 
as  I  with  the  mistress. 

"Late  in  the  afternoon  we  went  to  Monsieur  Lauris- 
ton's  chateau,  as  pretty  a  little  half  villa — half  castle — as 
I  ever  walked  into.  After  a  perfect  jewel  of  a  dinner, 
for  my  uncle  played  the  host  to  a  nicety,  Hilda  sitting 
beside  me,  and  making  me  very  happy  by  her  beauty, 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  47 

for  never  in  my  life  did  I  see  her  as  lovely  as  the  even- 
ing I  lost  her. 

"She  was  dressed  en  princess,  as  Madame  O'Brien 
Dillon  should  be,  her  white  brocaded  silk  not  half  as 
white  and  shining  as  her  fairy  shoulders.  Her  hair, 
like  the  gold  dust  of  Arabia  with  the  sun  shining  through 
it,  and  her  eyes  roguishly  blue  and  bewitching,  though 
they  seemed  to  droop  when  mine  looked  love  into  hers. 

"After  desert  she  laughingly  proposed  to  leave  us 
gintlemen  to  our  tobacco  and  cards. 

"  '  Pooh!  stay  and  see  us  play  pharo,  '  remarked  her 
uncle.  '  I  am  going  to  teach  the  new  game  to  the 
Major.' 

"  'Faith,  tobacco  needn't  drive  you  from  me,  Hilda,' 
laughed  I.  'You  told  me  you  liked  smoked  mustach- 
ios  before  marriage;  so  sit  down  by  your  husband's 
side,  my  darling,  and  give  me  luck.' 

"At  this  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  said  she  would 
help  me  play,  and  tossing  herself  most  coquettishly  and 
alluringly  by  my  side,  her  white  hand  arranged  the 
stakes  for  me. 

"So  we  fell  to  gambling  again,  Monsieur  Lauriston 
and  myself,  at  the  new  game  that  they  call  pharo, 
which  was  invented  by  the  divil  to  make  rich  men  poor, 
Uncle  John  kindly  taking  the  bank,  and  the  stakes  grew 
heavier  and  heavier,  and  I  lost  and  Ipst,  Hilda  shriek- 
ing with  laughter  at  me  bad  luck. 

"  'Faith,'  said  I,  'I  don't  see  why  you  should  enjoy 
it.  The  poorer  your  husband  gets,  the  fewer  j'-wels 
and  gewgaws  he'll  be  able  to  buy  you,  my  beauty.' 

"' Pshaw! '  she  cried,  in  roguish  tones,  'Isn't  it  all 
in  the  family  ? ' 

"  And  Monsieur  Lauriston  said:  '  Major,  resign  from 
the  army  and  I'll  make  your  fortune  my  personal 
endeavor  in  Paris.  Pass  the  bottle.  Let's  play  another 
case ! ' 

"Just  then  said  I,  'What's  that  scratching  at  the 
window  ? ' 

"The  card  dropped  from  Uncle  Johnny's  hand,  but 
his  niece  cried,  '  That  must  be  one  of  the  dogs  trying 
to  get  in.  I'll  see  about  it, '  and  jumped  up  to  leave 
the  room. 

"At  the  door  Hilda  paused  and   looked   back  at  me; 


48  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

her  eyes  seemed  as  if  she  was  about  to  say  something. 
They  wandered  from  me  to  her  uncle,  but  as  they 
rested  on  him  she  appeared  to  change  her  mind,  and  said 
with  laughing  piquancy:  'Adieu,  bad  luck  husband. 
Save  enough  to  buy  us  breakfast  to-morrow.'  Then 
tossing  me  a  kiss  she  floated  through  the  door,  while 
her  uncle  and  I  went  at  the  cards  again. 

"  Then  the  divil's  own  luck  came  to  me.  Quarter  of 
an  hour  more  and  all  me  plunder  of  the  Low  Countries  had 
left  me,  and  I  had  given  Monsieur  Lauriston  an  order 
on  the  Commissary  General  for  everything  I  had  in  the 
world,  and  was  only  plain  Major  O'Brien  Dillon,  of 
De  Crissey's  Regiment  of  Dragoons,  without  a  /out's  d'or 
in  my  pocket. 

"But  still  I  thought  myself  rich — I  had  my  darling 
wife,  she  loved  me,  and  I  was  happy. 

"Just  then  there  came  more  scratching  at  the  win- 
dow. • 

"'It's  that  cursed  dog  again,'  laughed  Uncle 
Johnny.  '  I'll  go  out  and  see  what  Hilda  has  done 
with  the  beast.'  So  he  left  me,  going  into  the  front 
hallway,  following  the  steps  of  my  wife,  putting  very 
carefully  in  his  pocketbook  his  plunder  of  the  night. 

"  As  he  did  so,  Mr.  Lanty  came  in  from  the  kitchen, 
bringing  with  him  some  whiskey  and  water,  crying 
jovially,  '  Here's  yer  Honor's  night-cap! '  Then  seeing 
we  were  alone,  a  sudden  change  came  into  his  voice. 
He  whispered  in  my  ear:  'The  Austrians  are  surround- 
ing the  house,  but  our  horses  are  saddled  outside.' 

"After  an  old  campaigner's  habit  I  always  sat  with 
sword  and  pistols.  I  followed  Mr.  Lanty  quietly  into 
the  kitchen,  and  opening  the  door  found  myself  in  the 
darkness  face  to  face  with  a  couple  of  Austrian  hussars. 
Not  recognizing  my  uniform  in  the  gloom,  one  of 
them,  an  officer,  said:  '  This  is  the  house,  I  believe.' 

"  The  thought  of  treachery  shot  like  a  stream  of  fire 
through  my  soul  as  I  whispered  'Right  ye  are,'  and 
passed  my  sword  through  his  body,  while  Lanty,  who 
was  at  my  side,  pistolled  the  private  soldier,  and  sent 
him  after  his  master. 

"  '  Quick,  to  the  horses,'  Lanty  whispered. 

"But  I  said,  '  No!     Back  and  defend  my  wife.' 

"  '  There's  no  danger  to  her,  but  there's  death  to  us,' 


A     PRINCKSS     ()F     PARIS.  49 

he  whispered.  'Sure,  she  knows  all  about  it.  Didn't 
her  maid  servant  confess  to  me  only  three  minutes  ago 
that  the  Austrians  were  sent  for  last  night,  Lauriston's 
Italian  valet  carrying  word  to  the  commander  of  the 
German  outposts.  Quick,  they're  coming.  Follow 
me  to  the  horses. ' 

"  With  my  brain  in  a  whirl,  I  sprang  after  him,  for  I 
saw  the  Austrians  pouring  into  the  grounds  a«nd  up  to 
the  front  door.  A  moment  after  we  were  mounted  and 
cleared  the  fence  Irish  fox-hunter  fashion.  Three  or 
four  were  after  us,  but  they  would  not  risk  the  jump,  and 
had  to  go  round  by  the  gate. 

"Then  I  heard  Hilda's  cry.  Good  God!  was  it 
despair  ? 

"  I  turned  to  cut  my  way  back  through  the  troopers 
to  save  her  or  die  with  her,  but  Lanty  seized  my  bridle 
and  implored,  '  She's  playing  the  Banshee  on  you. 
She's  alluring  you  to  destruction.  I  saw  her  talking  to 
the  Austrians  myself.' 

"Til  not  believe  ye,'  I  groaned,  and  turned  my 
horse  again  towards  the  gate.  But  just  at  this  moment 
I  saw  her  uncle  Lauriston,  the  Scotchman,  in  the  light 
coming  from  the  hall  door,  talking  to  two  or  three  of 
the  Austrians,  and  pointing  out  the  way  I  went. 

"Then  I  knew,  traitoress  or  true,  Hilda  was  safe  ; 
and  made  up  my  mind  to  live  that  I  might  measure  it 
out  to  the  -man  who  had  ruined  me  in  purse,  and 
perchance  ruined  me  in  heart.  So  I  thundered  away, 
pursued  by  twenty  Austrian  dragoons  and  hussars,  but 
Lanty  and  I  out-ran  them,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  and 
though  a  few  bullets  whistled  about  us,  came  into  camp 
unscathed  about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

"  By  four  I  had  permission  from  headquarters,  and 
taking  a  couple  of  squadroons,  galloped  back  to  the 
place.  If  I  had  put  my  hand  upon  my  dear  Uncle 
Johnny  I  would  have  hanged  him  without  a  court 
martial  to  one  of  his  own  trees.  But  I  found  the 
chateau  deserted.  They  told  me  in  Valenciennes  that 
Mr.  Lauriston  and  a  lady  had  passed  through  en  route 
for  Paris  very  early  in  the  morning. 

"It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  I  got  back  to  our 
camp  before  Douay,  when  it  suddenly  occurred  to  me  I 
might  at  least  save  my  money.  Up  I  hurried  to  the 


50  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

Commissary  General's  to  stop  payment  on  the  order  I 
had  given  Lauriston  for  my  riches.  But  even  as  I 
entered,  one  of  the  clerks  said  to  me,  '  I  presume, 
Major  Dillon,  you've  been  investing  your  spoils  of  war 
in  Paris.' 

"  'What  makes  you  think  that  ?  '  gasped  I. 

"'Why,  Monsieur  Lauriston,  the  great  financier, 
presented  your  order  quite  early  in  the  day,  and  carried 
off  your  plunder  of  the  Low  Countries." 

"  '  You  know  him  then  ? '  asked  I  very  eager. 

"  'No  ;  never  saw  him  before  to-day.' 

"'Then,  what  makes  you  think  him  a  great 
financier  ? ' 

"  'Oh!  from  his  conversation.  He  knows  more  about 
exchange  and  the  values  of  rare  coins  than  any  expert  I 
ever  met.' 

"'Oh  yes!'  I  replied,  quite  easily,  'My  L^ncle 
Johnny  is  a  capitalist.  I  presume  he  had  my  wife 
with  him ! ' 

"'Then  let  me  .congratulate  you,'  said  the  young 
man.  '  I  noticed  in  the  coach  the  most  beautiful 
woman  I  ever  saw.' 

"  '  That's  the  description  of  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon,' 
laughed  I;  but  it  was  a  very  yellowish  laugh,  as  I 
rushed  from  the  room  to  headquarters,  to  try  and  get 
leave  so  that  I  could  pursue  my  Uncle  Johnny.  For  I 
had  made  up  my  mind  to  overtake  him,  and  to  have  his 
life,  if  necessary,  to  bring  my  wife  back  with  me,  where 
I  would  have  taken  precious  safe  care  of  her. 

"But,  divil  any  leave  could  I  get,  and  they  sent  me 
on  a  scouting  expedition  to  the  front,  and  kept  me  very 
busy  till  the  end  of  the  campaign.  Then,  the  winter 
coming  on,  I  said:  '  I'll  try  and  find  her  in  Paris,'  and 
applied  for  leave  again ;  but  there  was  no  leave  for  me 
and  I  stayed  in  winter  quarters  eating  my  heart  out. 

"  Here  an  idea  struck  me — Lanty  could  get  leave 
though  his  master  couldn't.  I  sent  him  to  Paris  to  make 
inquiries  as  to  the  health  of  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon. 

"But  he  was  brought  back  to  me  nearly  beaten  to  a 
jelly.  It  seems  that  he  arrived  at  the  capital  all  right, 
and  had  located  Rosalie,  the  maid  servant,  and  the 
Italian  valet,  Malavello,  and  was  getting  along  swim- 
mingly, when,  one  night,  four  bullies  fell  upon  him  in 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  51 

the  dark  streets  of  Paris,  and  cudgelled  poor  Lanty  in- 
sensible. 

"After  that,  all  he  cared  for  was  getting  back  to  me 
alive.  One  of  the  ruffians,  he  told  me,  when  he  was  able 
to  talk,  was  the  Italian  valet,  for  he  heard  him  chuckle, 
while  he  was  beating  him  to  death:  '  Take  this  with 
Madame  O'Brien  Dillon's  compliments!  ' 

"  Shortly  after  Lanty's  return  from  his  unfortunate 
journey  I  received  a  note  that  set  my  heart  beating. 
I  can  tell  ye  without  producing  the  paper,  for  its  words 
are  burnt  on  my  heart. 

"  It  read  as  follows: 

"  '  Do  not,  for  your  own  safety,  attempt  to  follow  me.    Above 
all,  as  you  value  your  life,  do  not  visit  Paris.  HILDA." 

"-That's  a  dare  I  won't  take.  If  I  live,  I  will  visit 
Paris.  Oh,  Raymond !  sometimes  thinking  the  matter 
over,  I  guess  Lauriston  may  not  have  been  my  villainous 
Uncle  Johnny's  real  name.  When  I  think  of  his  influ- 
ence— court  influence,  it  must  be — keeping  me  without 
leave  of  absence  all  winter,  and  the  style  in  which  he 
lived,  his  plate  and  jewels; — sometimes,  by  my  soul! 
I  wonder  if  I  may  not  in  my  arms  have  held  as 
my  wife  perhaps  a  princess  of  the  blood.  But  when  I 
dream  of  her  I  go  like  mad,  so  I'll  finish  my  story. 

"As  I  thought  of  nothing  else  all  winter,  I  was  glad 
when  the  spring  opened  and  we  got  to  soldiering  again. 
And  then  the  divil's  luck  seemed  to  come  upon 
De  Crissey's  Regiment  of  Horse.  We  lost  four  hundred 
men,  as  I  told  you,  during  the  assault  on  Landau,  and 
four  hundred  more  in  that  beastly  swamp  outside  the 
place.  Then  there  being  no  regiment  of  De  Crissey's, 
I  was  transferred  to  Clancarthy's  Irish  Foot. 

"With  that,  the  same  black  fortune  seemed  to  come  on 
them.  They  got  all  the  hot  and  deadly  places,  and 
now  there's  only  twenty-five  men  and  myself  left  alive. 

"Somehow  I  think  it  is  all  owing  to  my  cursed 
uncle,  John  Lauriston — that  in  trying  to  murder  me,  he 
has  murdered  my  two  regiments,  and  by  the  blessing  of 
God  I  have  escaped  to  avenge  them.  Sometimes  I 
think  a  woman  knows  all  about  these  infamies,  and 
that  woman  my  wife!  I  try  to  believe  her  angel,  but 
divil  will  come  in  my  mind.  But  I  try  to  live  on  and 


52  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

fight  it  out,  for  I  know  one  man's  my  enemy;  that 
same  John  Lauriston,  gold  dealer  and  money  changer  to 
his  Majesty,  who,  after  plundering  me  of  the  fine 
fortune  I  had  made  in  honorable  warfare  in  the  Low 
Countries,  would  have  sold  my  life  to  the  Austrians,  to 
get  me  out  of  his  path  that  night  at  Valenciennes. 

"That's  my  story,  Raymond.  That's  who  I  think 
are  my  enemies.  Now  tell  me  about  your  wife,  and 
who  you  think  are  yours." 

But  Raymond  d'Arnac  shakes  his  curly  head  and 
laughs.  "  I  have  no  wife.  I  have  no  enemies." 

"Ah,  then,  ye  must  be  one  of  the  other  kind,"  cries 
the  Major,  excitedly. 

"What  other  kind?" 

"The  rich  men.  The  kind  that  dirty  villain  Lenoir 

is  using  his  power  as  Chief  of  Staff "  Here 

O'Brien  Dillon  suddenly  checks  himself  and  whispers 
hurriedly,  coming  close  to  his  companion:  "But  I 
make  no  charges.  I  am  simply  going  to  tell  ye  a  few 
facts  from  which  ye  must  draw  your  own  inferences." 

Then  his  voice  grows  sad  as  he  mutters:  "You 
remember  poor  Raoul,  the  Marquis  de  Pasmontain?" 

"Yes.  As  noble  a  young  Frenchman  as  ever  drew 
sword,"  rejoins  Raymond,  astounded  at  the  turn  the 
conversation  has  taken. 

' '  As  noble  and  as  rich  a  Frenchman  as  ever  drew 
sword,"  answers  the  Irishman.  "He  fell  defending 
the  little  bridge  over  the  Meuse,  his  detachment 
outnumbered  four  to  one;  and  into  his  estates,  valued 
at  500,000  livres  a  year  rents,  in  came  his  cousin,  a 
dirty  little  Parisian  gambler,  they  tell  me.  Then  ye 
remember  the  Chevalier  de  Lavalle,  killed  at  the  assault 
on  a  mined  tower,  with  no  more  chance  than  a  rat. " 

"Yes,  before  Douay,"  answers  D'Arnac. 

"And  rich,  also,"  goes  on  the  Major.  "An  income 
of  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  livres  rents,  all 
coming  to  his  step-brother,  one  of  the  gambling  cour- 
tiers at  Versailles.  So  also  the  Viscomte  de  Pressieu, 
you  recollect  him?" 

"He  fell  a  month  ago,  defending  the  retreat  from 
Brisac. " 

"With  no  cavalry  to  help  him!"  cries  the  Major, 
"and  richer  than  any  of  them.  One  hundred  and  fifty 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  53 

thousand  frits  income.  Who  benefited  by  his  death? 
His  step-mother,  the  notorious  beauty  and  spendthrift 
of  the  court,  Madame  de  Cambray.  Besides,  I  can 
mention  half  a  dozen  more,  all  rich,  and  all  with  heirs 
to  be  benefited  greatly  by  their  death,  that  fell  not 
altogether  by  the  chances  of  battle,  but  by  being  placed 
in  situations  where  no  gallantry  could  save  them  from 
death  by  the  enemy.  And  each  time  after  his  man  fell, 
Lenoir,  though  he  has  nothing  more  than  his  pay,  has 
had  all  the  money  he  wants  to  squander  at  the  gam- 
bling table,  or  to  use  in  his  visits  to  the  court,  where, 
they  tell  me,  he  lives  as  extravagantly  as  if  he  were  a 
sur-intendant  of  finance.  Now,  my  boy,  put  two  and 
two  together,  and  think  for  yourself.  You  have  no 
wife.  You  have  a  very  pretty  income,  I  am  told,  and 
some  day  will  have  very  much  more.  Who  will  gain  by 
your  death  ? " 

But  Raymond's  face,  at  these  last  few  words,  grows 
gloomy  and  agonized.  He  cries  out:  "Mother  of 
Heaven!  I  don't  want  to  think!  You  have  opened  a 
suggestion  to  me  that  makes  me  shudder.  My  God! 
I'm  too  young  to  believe  the  man  I  love — my  own  flesh 
and  blood — plotting  my  taking  off.  For  these  are  no 
chances  of  battle  you  are  talking  of,  but  murders  as 
cruel  and  cowardly  as  the  poison  drops  of  the  Borgias. " 
Then  he  mutters:  "For  God's  sake,  don't  let  me  think 
more  about  it — at  all  events  not  at  present,"  and 
suddenly  remarks:  "But  to  your  business.  You  are 
not  rich." 

"  Not  since  I  lost  my  spoils  of  the  Low  Countries!  " 
answers  O'Brien  Dillon  grimly. 

"Then  why  do  you  think  Lenoir  is  plotting  against 
your  life  ?" 

'Because  he  is  Lauriston's  instrument. " 

'  You  guess  that?  " 

'  I  know  it. " 

'Why?" 

'Because  on  his  return  from  Paris,  at  the  open- 
ing of  this  campaign,  Gaston  Lenoir,  Count  du  Bourg's 
Chief  of  Staff,  had  upon  his  table  several  of  the  golden 
goblets  and  other  pieces  of  plate  that  I  lost  to  my  kind 
Uncle  Johnny  that  night!  "  remarks  Dillon  grimly,  "and 
I  know  enough  about  my  same  uncle,  John  Lauriston,  to 


54  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

know  that  he  never  pays  his  money  without  value 
received." 

"Then  I  will  confront  Lenoir  with  his  treachery!  " 
cries  Raymond,  the  enthusiasm  and  impetuosity  of  youth 
blazing  in  his  blue  eyes. 

"Not  if  you  want  to  live!"  answers  Dillon  very 
gravely.  "  Gaston  Lenoir  is  the  deadliest  swordsman  in 
France!" 

"  As  deadly  as  Ducroc,  whom  you  killed  ?  "  returns 
Raymond  with  a  confident  laugh. 

"Worse!  Besides  you  wouldn't  have  Mr.  Lanty  to 
throw  the  fire  in  his  face,  as  I  did.  Go  to  the  Marechal. 
Tell  him  the  facts  in  my  case,  my  boy.  De  Villars  has 
the  true  justice  of  a  great  soldier.  Avoid  any  compli- 
cation on  my  account  with  Lenoir.  Promise  me  that, 
or  I  won't  let  ye  out  of  my  sight.  Because  perchance 
I'll  never  see  ye  again  alive,  and  I  can't  afford  to  lose 
my  only  friend  now  I've  just  gained  him!  "  whispers  the 
Irish  Major,  with  so  much  concern  in  his  voice  that  D'Ar- 
nac  knows  Lenoir's  sword  must  be  very  deadly  to  cause 
such  warning  from  a  tried  soldier,  who  has  faced  death 
on  many  a  battlefield,  in  many  a  cavalry  charge,  in 
many  a  desperate  deed  of  assault  and  escalade. 

"You  have  my  word!  "  says  the  young  man  shortly,  and 
wringing  the  hand  of  this  man,  who  has  received  injustice 
for  saving  his  life,  the  young  Comte  d'Arnac  hurriedly 
leaves  the  tent  of  the  Irish  Major,  and,  springing  on  his 
horse,  makes  his  way  through  the  crowded  military 
streets  of  the  French  encampment  towards  the  head- 
quarters of  its  Marechal  and  Commander  in  Chief,  the 
pet  of  fortune  and  beloved  of  his  Most  Christian  Majesty, 
King  Louis  XIV.,  the  Due  de  Villars. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    ONE    CHANCE    OF    LIFE. 

As  HE  RIDES,  Raymond  thinks  of  Dillon's  sug- 
gestion that  his  life  is  not  bearing  merely  the  natural 
risks  of  battle,  but  also  that  of  some  plot  instigated  by 
some  one  who  will  gain  by  his  death. 

Soon  the  high  spirits  natural  to  strong  young  man- 
hood overcome  these  gloomy  thoughts;  he  mutters: 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  55 

"My cousin  Charles — absurd!  impossible!"  and  devotes 
his  mind  to  contemplating  his  coming  interview  with 
De  Villars,  and  how  he  may  best  battle  for  the  Irish 
Major. 

Thinking  over  this,  he  finds  himself  halted  by  the 
sentries  of  the  French  Garde,  who  are  on  duty  in  front 
of  the  Marechal's  quarters.  This  is  the  handsome 
summer  residence  of  a  rich  German  burgher,  who  has 
fled  before  the  war,  leaving  his  goods  and  chattels 
behind  him. 

Escorted  by  the  sergeant  of  the  guard,  he  walks  up  to 
the  house  to  find  an  aide-de-camp,  who  tells  him  that  Mon- 
sieur le  Due  is  at  present  inspecting  the  town  of  Friburg. 

"  For  which  we  may  thank  you,  Monsieur  le  Colonel !  " 
adds  the  officer,  who  has  evidently  heard  of  last  night's 
assault. 

Half  an  hour  after,  the  Duke's  carriage  drives  up,  for 
that  officer  cannot  mount  his  horse,  the  effect  of  a 
wound  received  the  preceding  year. 

The  next  instant  the  hearty  tones  of  the  old  cam- 
paigner cry:  "  Show  our  boy  Colonel  in!  "  and  D'Arnac 
finds  himself  confronting  the  most  successful  French 
commander  of  that  day. 

The  Marechal  is  in  the  good  humor  that  always 
attends  success.  He  has  thrashed  Prince  Eugene  at 
Denain,  has  got  his  hand  on  the  town  of  Friburg,  and 
will  soon  have  its  mountain  covered  with  forts,  and  is 
fighting  on  that  side  of  the  Rhine  on  which  all  true 
French  soldiers  like  to  fly  their  battle-flag — the  German 
side.  Naturally  of  a  genial  and  hearty  disposition,  he 
is  even  more  genial  now.  Instead  of  the  military  salute 
of  ceremony,  he  holds  out  his  hand,  saying:  "  My  boy, 
your  grand  uncle,  the  great  Turenne,  taught  me  the  art  of 
war.  Your  father  rode  by  my  side  in  the  battle  at 
Friedlengen!  Now,  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

Raymond,  his  cheeks  flushing  under  this  reception  in 
the  presence  of  a  staff  brilliant  both  in  names  and 
achievements,  says  shortly:  "Thank  you,  Monsieur 
le  Marechal.  I  only  ask  a  private  interview  of  a 
minute." 

"  With  pleasure!"  answers  Hector  de  Villars,  prompt- 
ly leading  the  young  man  into  an  adjoining  apartment. 
"Now,"  he  says,  kindly  and  reassuringly,  throwing  off 


56  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

the  difference  in  age  and  military  rank  between  them, 
"  what  can  I  do  for  the  hero  of  last  night?  " 

"  Reward  him!  " 

"You  have  been  made  colonel.  Do  you  want  to 
jump  from  a  captain  to  a  general  ?  "  laughs  De  Villars. 

"  Reward  the  true  hero  of  last  night!  " 

"  I  fail  to  understand  you !  "  remarks  the  Commander, 
opening  his  eyes.  "You  do  not  refer  to  yourself  ?  " 

"  No;  to  Major  O'Brien  Dillon,  of  Clancarthy's  Irish 
Regiment  of  Foot." 

"Humph!"  grunts  the  Marechal,  his  face  growing 
cloudy.  Then,  stepping  to  the  door,  he  says  suddenly: 
"  The  order  book  of  to-day!  That  of  Count  du  Bourg's 
division !  " 

In  a  moment  he  has  this  in  his  hand;  the  good  nature 
passes  out  of  his  face,  and  the  sternness  of  military 
discipline  flashes  in  his  eyes,  as  he  says  shortly: 
"Major  Dillon  is  under  orders  for  court  martial,  for 
deserting  his  command  in  front  of  the  enemy.  Did  he 
not  desert  his  command  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Ah!" 

"  By  going  ahead  of  it.  His  command  joined  him  in 
the  morning." 

"When?" 

"When  it  overtook  him.  He  charged  the  enemy  one 
hundred  and  fifty  yards  ahead  of  his  men,  and  that  one 
hundred  and  fifty  yards  was  so  terrible  his  grenadiers 
could  not  fight  their  way  to  him  for  two  hours!  " 

"Diable!"  remarks  the  Marechal.  "  This  is  a  new 
story  to  me. "  Then  he  adds  kindly:  "  Sit  down,  and 
tell  me  all!" 

This  Raymond  does,  giving  clearly,  yet  enthusiastic- 
ally, the  account  of  the  Irish  Major  joining  him  in  the 
first  bastion,  and  telling  them  that  it  was  a  mine  under 
their  feet.  That  when  the  men  had  muttered  "Back!" 
O'Brien  Dillon  had  cried  "  Forward /"  and  led  them  to 
attack  the  second  bastion — the  one  that  gave  entry  to 
the  town — and  how  they  had  held  it  against  Baron  de 
Arsch's  Austrian  Infantry.  This  is  interspersed  with 
one  or  two  of  Lanty's  remarks,  that  make  the  Marechal 
chuckle. 

Finally  the  boy  concludes,  carried  away  by  the  impet- 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  57 

uosity  of  youth:  "  I  wish  no  promotion  for  the  affair  of 
last  night,  until  justice  is  done  to  its  true  hero — the 
man  who  saved  my  life  and  gave  you  Friburg — Major 
O'Brien  Dillon!  " 

"And  it  shall  be!  "  answers  the  Marechal  enthusiast- 
ically. "Justice  to  the  Major,  and  justice  also  to  his 
Irish  servant!  "  For  Raymond's  words  have  carried 
conviction  to  the  heart  of  his  father's  old  friend. 

Then  De  Villars  says  more  slowly:  "Major  Dillon 
committed  a  military  indiscretion  that  only  success  in 
war  warrants;  had  he  failed,  a  court  martial  might  have 
taken  his  life.  But  he  won!  And  egad!  I'm  too 
much  of  a  gamester  myself  to  balk  any  man  who  risks 
his  life  to  win  glory!  "  and  going  to  the  door,  he 
summons  an  aide-de-camp,  saying:  "Write  instantly  to 
General  du  Bourg,  directing  him  to  cancel  order  of 
court  martial  on  Major — no,  Colonel  O'Brien  Dillon  of 
Clancarthy's  Foot!" 

"  Colonel  ?  '  echoes  Raymond. 

"Of  course — you're  a  colonel — did  the  Irishman 
not  do  as  well  as  you  ?  "  laughs  De  Villars. 

Then,  after  a  moment's  consideration,  he  turns  to 
Raymond  and  remarks:  "  From  your  account  there  is  no 
regiment  of  Clancarthy's  Foot?  " 

"  Only  twenty-five  men!  "  mutters  -D'Arnac. 

"And  a  colonel  should  have  a  regiment !  "  suggests  the 
Marechal  pleasantly.  "  The  Count  de  Belleisle  has  just 
been  relieved  from  the  Regiment  of  Alsace;  "  then  com- 
mands his  secretary:  "  Make  an  order  transferring 
Colonel  O'Brien  Dillon  from  Clancarthy's  Foot  to  the 
Regiment  of  Alsace!" 

Next  turning  towards  Raymond,  he  says:  "Will 
that  satisfy  you,  Colonel  ? ' 

"  More!  "  cries  the  young  man.  "  Now  I  am  really  the 
happiest  man  in  the  army!  " 

"  Except  Lanty!  "  remarks  De  Villars,  handing  him 
a  slip  of  paper,  upon  which  he  has  been  hurriedly  writing 
while  he  is  speaking.  "This  releases  Lanty  from  the 
guard  tent,  and  makes  him  a  sergeant!  " 

As  Raymond,  overwhelming  him  with  thanks,  is 
about  to  leave,  the  Duke  goes  on:  "When  you  left 
Major  Dillon,  he  thought  himself  ill-used  ?  " 

"Very!  " 


58  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"Well!  The  man  who  helped  you  give  Friburg  to 
me  must  not  think  Hector  de  Villars  ungrateful.  Please 
take  my  compliments  to  Colonel  Dillon,  and  ask  if  he 
will  not,  with  yourself,  do  me  the  honor  of  dining  with 
me  this  evening.  An  Irish  soldier  of  fortune  always 
enjoys  a  good  dinner;  foraging'is  light — and  I  hope  mine 
will  be  to  his  liking." 

"  I  will  carry  the  message  to  him,  Monsieur  le  Due, 
and  make  his  heart  as  light  as  mine!  "  cries  D'Arnac, 
his  dark  eyes  lighted  by  gratitude  and  love  for  his 
chief. 

"Very  well!  "responds  De  Villars,  "let  me  see  your 
friend,  the  Irish  Colonel,  at  seven !  Good-bye,  as  I  must 
make  arrangements  for  the  reduction  of  the  forts  on  the 
Schlossberg. " 

"Ah!"  answers  Raymond,  a  happy  idea  striking 
him,  "  Monsieur  le  Marechal  as  usual  leads  the  assault  in 
his  carriage  ?"  referring  to  an  affair  that  had  made  De 
Villars  famous;  when  being  wounded  in  a  previous 
campaign  and  unable  to  take  horse,  his  Excellency  had 
led  a  charge  propped  up  in  his  coach. 

"No,  by  my  faith!"  chuckles  the  Duke,  for  even 
Marechals  of  France  like  flattery  when  well  put.  "  After 
that  last  affair  my  coachman  ran  away,  and  I  have  too 
expert  a  whip  to  risk  my  present  one.  Remember  at 
seven!  " 

As  Raymond  takes  his  leave  he  is  congratulated 
by  several  membe'rs  of  the  Marechal's  staff,  Monsieur  de 
Sartimes,  its  chief,  saying  to  him:  "  My  young  friend, 
you  will  soon  be  as  celebrated  as  your  great  uncle!  '  for 
the  pet  of  the  Commander  is  generally  the  favorite  of  his 
etat  major. 

With  a  light  heart  Raymond  hurries  towards  the  tent 
of  his  Irish  friend,  but  suddenly  seeing  some  ominous 
movement  at  the  office  of  the  Provost  Marshal,  turns 
rapidly  to  the  dispenser  of  military  justice  bearing  the 
order  for  Lanty's  release,  and  finds  himself  just  in 
time. 

After  the  manner  of  that  day,  condemnation  was 
prompt  for  the  common  soldier,  and  punishment  fol- 
lowed very  rapidly  thereafter ;  and  he  discovers  them  pre- 
paring to  make  Mr.  Lanty  uncomfortable,  by  stringing 
him  up  by  the  thumbs  for  the  night,  a  mediasval  military 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  59 

punishment  under  the  name  of  estrapade  then  in  use  in 
the  French  army. 

On  hearing  the  news,  Mr.  Lanty,  who  has  been  look- 
ing on  with  savage  concern,  cries  to  the  guard  about 
him:  "  Take  off  my  irons,  and  let  me  jump  for  joy!  God 
bless  his  Honor,  the  Marechal !  Now  salute  a  sergeant, 
ye  murderous  villains." 

This  being  done  by  the  grinning  privates  about  him, 
Lanty  accompanies  Raymond;  but  during  their  journey 
to  Dillon's  tent  he  astounds  the  young  Frenchman  by 
these  gloomy  words:  "  Byrne  soul!  I  was  born  one  hun- 
dred years  too  soon !  That's  the  ruin  of  me.  I  know  too 
much  for  the  present  world." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asks  D'Arnac.  "  Hasn't  justice 
been  done  you?  " 

"  No,  and  it  never  will  be.  Instead  of  being  a  com- 
mon soldier,  one  hundred  years  from  now,  if  the  world 
goes  on,  I  would  have  been  honored  as  a  great  man; 
but  now  my  wisdom  always  gets  me  into  trouble.  Look 
at  the  lights  I  made  from  a  revolving  wheel,  that  the 
priests  imprisoned  me  for.  Look  at  me  knowledge  of 
the  old  forms  of  gunnery,  that  rescued  us  from  being 
blown  up  in  the  Escargo  Fort,  and  what  has  it  brought 
me  to — a  narrow  escape  from  running  the  gauntlet,  and 
a  whole  day  lost  from  foraging.  Sure  an'  the  Major  will 
have  nothing  to  eat  to-night!  " 

"Sure  an'  he  will!"  laughs  Raymond.  "Colonel  Dillon 
dines  with  Marechal  de  Villars  !  " 

"  Dines  with  the  Commander  in  Chief?  Tare-an-ages! 
And  is  Sergeant  Lanty  invited  to  dine  with  his  staff  ?" 

"No  !"  answers  D'Arnac,  "but  the  canteen  furnish- 
es very  good  meals,  and  with  a  louts  d'or " 

"I  can  keep  fat  for  a  week!  "  grins  Lanty,  holding 
eager  hand  for  the  coin  the  young  officer  proffers.  Then 
he  goes  on  more  solemnly :  • '  But  it  will  be  a  poor  week's 
living  for  the  Colonel.  Sure  without  the  inspiration  of 
an  empty  stomach,  I'll  be  little  good  at  foraging." 

By  this  time  they  are  at  the  tent  of  O'Brien  Dillon, 
who,  looking  on  the  faces  of  D'Arnac  and  Lanty,  cries: 
"  It's  good  news!  " 

"The  best  in  tin-  world  !"  answers  Raymond. 
"Colonel  Dillon,  Marechal  le  Due  de  Villars  presents 


60  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

his  compliments   to  you,  and    asks  the   honor   of   your 
company  at  dinner. " 

"  Colonel,  did  ye  say  ?  "  cries  O'Brien.  Then  he  goes 
on  gloomily:  "But  without  a  regiment!  Only  twenty- 
five  of  me  poor  fellows  left  !  " 

"  No,  nine  hundred  !" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  You  command  the  Regiment  of  Alsace  !  " 

"Faith,  then,  I'll  eat  a  good  dinner  with  the  Duke 
this  evening,  and  thank  him  for  his  command  at  the 
same  time!"  returns  Dillon,  in  a  hearty  voice;  next 
groans,  "God  save  me!  My  only  uniform  was  spoilt 
in  last  night's  fight,  and  my  only  wig  pulled  off  my  head 
in  the  street  skirmish." 

"We're  about  the  same  height,  accept  one  of  mine," 
suggests  D'Arnac. 

"'Deed  and  I  will!  My  coat  has  lost  one  sleeve,  my 
right  epaulette  is  naught,  and  I'm  never  above  accepting 
a  favor  from  a  friend  like  you've  proved  yourself  to  me 
to-day!"  cries  O'Brien,  with  outstretched  hand,  and 
tears  of  gratitude  in  his  frank  Irish  face ;  then  he  mutters 
gloomily,  "I've  never  been  able  to  afford  but  one 
uniform  since  my  Uncle  Johnny  stripped  me  of  my 
plunder  of  the  Low  Countries." 

So  Raymond  leaves  him,  but  he  does  not  forget  his 
promise,  and  an  hour  afterwards  the  two  ride  up  to  the 
headquarters  of  the  Mare"chal  of  France,  O'Brien  Dillon 
remarking  complacently:  "I  think  my  figure  does 
your  uniform  honor,  Colonel  d'Arnac!" 

A  minute  later  they  are  shown  in,  and  the  Duke, 
putting  them  very  much  at  their  ease,  and  treating  them 
with  distinguished  consideration,  they  sit  down  to 
table  with  De  Villars,  some  of  his  staff,  the  Count  du 
Bourg,  his  Lieutenant-General,  and  a  gentleman  upon 
whom  Raymond  would  glare  with  indignation,  did  not 
Dillon,  who  sits  next  to  him,  give  warning  pressure 
with  the  foot.  This  gentleman  is  Du  Bourg's  chief  of 
staff,  the  Chevalier  Gaston  Lenoir,  about  whom  several 
pertinent  words  had  passed  in  the  afternoon  between 
the  Irish  Colonel  and  the  young  French  officer. 

"Don't  let  him  take  away  your  appetite,"  whispers 
O'Brien.  "He  has  not  succeeded^/  in  taking  away 


A     I'KINCFSS     OF     PARIS.  6 1 

your  breath.  Smile  on  him,  and  don't  let  him  think  ye 
suspect  him,  or  he'll  do  you  certain!" 

Thus  warned,  Raymond  contrives  to  keep  a  pleasant 
face,  and  replies  to  the  remarks  of  Lenoir,  who  is  a 
handsome  man  of  about  thirty;  dark,  of  a  Spanish 
demeanor,  punctilious  address,  and  said  to  be  the  best 
swordsman  in  the  army  of  France. 

Monsieur  Lenoir  is  very  polite  to  both  the  newly  pro- 
moted ones,  and  apologizes  to  Dillon  for  the  mistake  in  the 
report  furnished  him  by  his  Adjutant  that  had  caused 
the  Irishman's  arrest. 

"  But  I  have  rectified  your  error!"  laughs  De  Villars, 
from  the  head  of  the  table,  for  the  wine  has  been 
circulating  very  freely,  and  they  are  all  very  happy. 

"Bedad!  you  can  arrest  me  to-morrow,  Monsieur 
Lenoir,"  answers  O'Brien,  "  if  the  Marechal  will  make 
me  a  general  to  correct  your  next  error!  " 

This  sets  them  all  to  laughing,  Lenoir  remarking, 
perhaps  with  intention:  "  I  hope  to  give  Colonel  Dillon 
a  chance  to  gain  another  step  before  the  end  of  the 
campaign!  " 

"Then  you  will  have  to  do  it  soon,"  says  the 
Duke,  who  has  got  to  talking  very  freely,  "for  our 
attack  upon  the  forts  on  Friburg  mountain  will  probably 
be  the  last  of  it.  Eugene  can't  get  any  aid  from  the 
States,  and  dare  not  give  me  battle  with  the  troops  he 
now  has.  His  Imperial  Majesty  of  Austria  will  now 
be  very  glad  to  stop  fighting  His  Most  Christian 
Majesty  of  France,  for  the  Turks  are  again  becoming 
troublesome,  and  he  fears  a  second  siege  of  Vienna!  " 

At  this  there  is  a  little  snarl  of  rage  from  the  offi- 
cers about  the  table:  "The  infidels  besiege  Vienna!" 

Then  man  after  man  cries: 

"  I'll  volunteer  for  the  defense  of  Christendom!  " 

For  though  the  French  officers  did  not  particularly 
care  for  the  Emperor  of  Austria  or  his  fortunes,  still  all 
Christendom  had  been  trembling  thirty  years  before  at 
the  conquering  march  of  the  Turks  up  the  Danube,  and 
had  not  got  over  their  hatred  and  terror  of  them  at  this 
time. 

"  licsides  Colonel  Dillon,  I  hope  to  iiivr  another 
chance  to  Monsieur  d'Ai'iiar,"  murmurs  Lrnoir  in  his 
soft,  purring  voice. 


62  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"  I  have  done  that  for  him  myself!"  remarks  De 
Villars. 

"How?"  asks  Raymond,  eagerly. 

"By  appointing  him  on  my  staff  as  extra  aide-de- 
camp. His  regiment  consists  of  four  men,  which  is 
hardly  enough  to  do  honor  to  our  young  Colonel!  " 

As  Raymond  falters  out  his  thanks,  the  Mare"chal  leaves 
the  table,  saying:  "Business  takes  me  away,  but  the 
wine  is  still  with  you,  gentlemen,  and  I  hope  you  will 
have  a  pleasant  evening. " 

Cards  and  dice  being  brought  in,  they  all  go  to  playing. 
The  stakes  are  not  very  high,  though  the  Irish  Colonel, 
backed  by  D'Arnac,  wins  one  hundred  louis,  and 
feels  himself  rich  again. 

In  the  conversation  over  the  card  table  Lenoir  men- 
tions his  last  visit  to  Paris,  rather  ostentatiously  naming 
a  number  of  the  beauties  of  the  capital,  its  gayest  sights 
and  brilliant  life  and  terrific  gaming  at  the  Foire  de 
Saint  Germain. 

"You  know  Paris  very  well,  Monsieur  Lenoir," 
remarks  O'Brien.  Then  he  says,  suddenly:  "Talking 
of  the  gambling  table,  have  you  ever  met  a  gentleman 
named  Lauriston,  who  is  the  greatest  player  of  pharo 
that  I  know? " 

"  No,"  replies  Gaston,  "the  greatest  gamester  I  ever 
encountered  or  met  is  Monsieur  Lass.  I  have  seen  him 
risk  one  hundred  thousand  livres  on  a  card,  and  win  as 
much  as  five  hundred  thousand  in  an  evening  at  the 
house  of  the  charming  Duclos. " 

"  Faith,  then,  he  played  a  bigger  game  than  my  man. 
My  Uncle  Johnny  only  won  sixty  thousand  crowns  from 
me.  But  it  was  all  I  had !  " 

And  the  party  soon  after  breaking  up,  O'Brien  Dillon 
strolls  off  arm  in  arm  with  D'Arnac,  laughing  and  chink- 
ing the  coin  in  his  pocket,  crying:  "That's  the  best 
dinner  I've  had  since  the  one  with  my  Uncle  Johnny. 
A  colonel  and  a  hundred  louis  to-night!  This  morning, 
a  major,  and  not  an  e"cus  in  my  purse.  Raymond,  you've 
brought  me  good  luck !  " 

The  next  day  the  Regiment  d'Alsace  is  ordered  into 
the  town  as  skirmishers  and  occupy  the  houses  fronting 
the  works  of  the  Austrians  on  the  Schlossberg  immedi- 
ately opposite  the  almost  impregnable  Fort  St.  Peter. 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  63 

Meantime,  Raymond,  as  extra  aide-de-camp  of  the 
Duke,  has  opportunity  to  go  to  the  town  in  search  of 
the  mother  of  the  waif  he  rescued  in  the  street  fight. 
To  trace  her  he  finds  is  impossible.  Half  the  inhabit- 
ants have  fled,  the  little  provisions  in  the  place  having 
been  promptly  taken,  with  mediaeval  military  etiquette, 
by  the  troops.  Inquiries  bring  no  news  to  him,  stroll- 
ing players  are  not  apt  to  have  permanent  friends. 

"Jeanne's  mother  was  probably  killed  in  some 
one  of  the  houses — at  all  events  I  cannot  find 
her,"  the  young  man  reasons  to  himself,  as  he  makes 
up  his  mind  to  take  the  little  girl,  on  his  return  to 
France,  and  place  her  under  the  direction  of  the  ladies 
of  his  own  family — if  they  will  receive  her.  A  pertinent 
question  in  the  year  1713,  when  grand  dames  of  the 
ancient  noblesse  looked  upon  those  beneath  them  as 
almost  of  a  different  race — and  the  ladies  of  D'Arnac's 
family  carried  in  their  veins  some  of  the  oldest  and 
proudest  blood  in  France. 

While  making  these  researches  Raymond  has  little 
time  to  cultivate  his  Irish  friend,  for  the  Mare'chal  keeps 
his  young  aide-de-camp  very  busy,  sending  him  on  many 
long  rides  to  his  entrenched  camp  that  he  has  built  to 
defy  the  attack  of  the  Austrian  Prince;  and  many  long 
rides  to  the  Rhine  to  hurry  up  reinforcements,  forage 
and  commissary  stores. 

Yet  chancing  to  see  the  little  girl  at  the  Carthu- 
sian Convent  the  evening  before  the  day  the  assault  is 
to  be  made  on  Fort  St.  Peter,  she,  with  childlike  frank- 
ness, gives  D'Arnac  some  curious  information. 

He  comes  hurriedly  back  from  his  visit  to  his  charge, 
goes  into  the  headquarters  of  the  Marechal,  and  getting 
an  opportunity  asks  the  Chief  of  Staff  if  he  knows  the 
dispositions  made  for  the  assault  the  next  day. 

"  Yes,"  replies  De  Sartimes,  "  if  the  Baron  de  Arsch 
does  not  beat  the  chamade  by  to-morrow  morning  at 
eight  o'clock  De  Villars  has  notified  him  the  assault  will 
take  place  and  no  quarter  be  given!  " 

"  You  are  sure  it  takes  place  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Certainly!  What  can  interfere  ?  D'Asfeld  reports 
the  facines  are  ready  to  throw  into  the  ditches,  and  the 
temporary  bridges  and  ladders  for  escalade  are  built. 
Prince  Eugene  has  given  up  all  hope  of  raising  the  siege, 


64  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

and  has  retired  to  his  lines  at  Etlingen.  It  will  certainly 
be  to-morrow  at  eight." 

"Then,"  returns  Raymond  eagerly,  "would  you 
mind  giving  me  the  dispositions  for  the  assault  ?  " 

"As  aide-de-camp  you  should  know  them,"  replies 
De  Sartimes.  "  It  may  assist  your  duties  to-morrow. 
The  left  of  our  line  is  the  division  of  the  Marquis  de 
Vivans.  At  the  center  is  the  brigade  of  De  Nangis  with 
the  regiments  of  Valenciennes  and  the  Guard  de 
Boulogne.  Du  Bourg  assaults  the  right.  As  usual  your 
Irish  friend  is  in  luck  again.  The  Regiment  of  Alsace 
leads  the  assault  supported  by  De  Pescux's  Picardy  Regi- 
ment and  Chambard's  Bretons." 

"  That  means,"  mutters  Raymond,  with  compressed 
lips,  "that  Dillon's  command  storms  the  bastion  of  St. 
Peter?" 

"Yes." 

"  The  one  by  the  gate  of  Swabia  ?  " 

"Certainly! — Morbleu!  but  you  are  in  a  hurry, 
Monsieur  d'Arnac!  "  ejaculates  De  Sartimes. 

For  at  these  words  Raymond  has  suddenly  run  out  of 
De  Villars'  headquarters,  mounted  his  horse,  and  is 
spurring  with  white  lips  along  the  road,  up  the  valley  of 
St.  Peters,  straight  for  the  Carthusian  convent,  for  what 
the  child  has  prattled  to  him  makes  him  know  his  Irish 
comrade  will  have  but  one  chance  of  life  in  to-morrow's 

battle AND  THAT  CHANCE  HE  MUST  GIVE  HIM. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  MOUSE  AND  THE  LION. 

BUT  HE  arrives  to  find  the  convent's  portals  closed. 
His  watch,  as  near  as  he  can  discern  by  sparks  from 
flint  and  steel,  shows  eleven  o'clock.  He  thunders  on 
the  door  with  his  fist. 

No  answer. 

He  assaults  the  heavy  oaken  barrier  with  the  butt  of 
his  pistol. 

No  reply. 

"  Unbar  the  gate,  or  I'll  blow  the  lock  off!  " 

No  sound. 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  65 

"Open  in  the  name  of  the  King  of  France!  "he 
shouts. 

Then  the  shrill  voice  of  the  old  German  lay  sister 
who  keeps  the  gate  is  heard  crying,  "  God  save  us!  Is 
the  monastery  to  be  sacked  ?  " 

"  No  ;  but  open  in  the  name  of  the  King!  " 

At  this  a  little  wicket  is  slowly  opened,  and  the  pale- 
faced  lay  sister  whispers  tremblingly:  "You  will  not  kill 
us,  neither  will  you  defile  the  convent  ? " 

"  No  ;  but  I  must  see  the  lady  superior." 

"She  cannot  be  disturbed.  The  convent  is  never 
opened  after  eight  o'clock." 

"She  must  see  me — NOW!  I  come  on  the  King's 
business." 

By  this  time  there  is  a  commotion  inside,  the  lady 
superior  appearing  at  the  head  of  her  frightened  nuns, 
for  even  convents  and  the  power  of  the  Church  did  not 
always  prevent  riot  and  outrage  of  the  licentious  soldiery 
of  the  early  eighteenth  century. 

Fortunately,  the  Abbess  recognizes  the  young  officer, 
and  says  imperiously:  "This  is  an  unseemly  inter- 
ruption of  our  hour  of  prayer,  Colonel  d'Arnac. " 

"  Life  and  death  hang  on  it." 

"  What  do  you  wish  ? " 

"I  wish  the  child  I  placed  with  you." 

"To  take  her  away  at  night  is  against  the  rules  of 
the  convent." 

"  I  must  have  her." 

"  No  man  enters  these  walls  after  nightfall." 

"  Within  ten  minutes  she  must  ride  on  my  saddle  into 
the  town  of  Friburg, "  answers  Raymond,  forcing  his 
way  past  one  or  two  nuns  who  would  bar  his  passage. 

"Enter  here  and  the  curse  of  Rome  will  be  upon 
you,"  utters  the  Abbess  with  upraised  crucifix. 

"It's  my  soul  for  my  friend's  life  and  the  lives  of 
three  hundred  men.  I  MUST!  "  moans  Raymond.  But 
even  as  he  says  this,  the  young  man,  filled  with  the 
superstition  of  his  time,  pauses  and  crosses  himself  ;  for 
D'Arnac  had  been  brought  up  very  carefully  by  pious 
mother  and  pious  priest  in  the  beliefs  of  the  Holy 
Catholic  Church.  Then  he  says  beseechingly :  "  1  pr.iy 
you,  lady  superior,  do  not  make  im-  commit  a  mortal 
sin.  Though  it  is  against  the  rules  of  the  convent, 


66  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

don't  force  me  to  break  into  your  sanctuary  and  carry 
the  child  off,  but  her  presence  in  the  town  of  Friburg 
to-night  means  the  lives  of  a  whole  French  regiment. 
You  have  been  protected  here.  No  French  soldier  has 
entered  your  walls  to  carry  off  your  provisions,  or  the 
treasures  of  the  Church.  Think!  The  lives  of  three 
hundred  men  against  one  of  your  rules. " 

The  lady  superior,  looking  at  him,  sees,  in  spite  of 
her  monastic  vows,  he  is  a  very  handsome  youth,  and 
returns:  "You  have  been  well  brought  up,  I  am  happy 
to  learn.  You  beg — you  do  not  command.  At  your 
prayer,  I  relax  the  rule,  but  will  do  penance  for  it. 
Bring  the  child  hither." 

A  few  minutes  after,  little  Jeanne,  with  a  pale  face, 
stands  beside  Raymond  and  his  panting  horse.  She 
says,  hurriedly:  "Have  you  found  my  mother?" 

"  No!  But  you  remember  the  story  you  told  me  of  her?" 

"Yes!" 

"  Come  with  me!     You  are  not  frightened  ?" 

"  Not  frightened  with  you  /"  laughs  the  child,  as  he 
swings  her  onto  the  saddle  in  front  of  him,  and  holding 
her  in  his  arms  gallops  to  the  town  of  Friburg/ 

Here,  giving  the  word  of  the  night  and  the  countersign, 
he  is  admitted  at  the  gate  of  the  Preaching  Friars,  the 
one  he  and  Dillon  had  captured,  and  riding  as  quickly  as 
possible  through  the  mediaeval  streets,  crowded  by 
soldiery,  past  the  old  town  hall  built  four  centuries 
before,  to  the  houses  immediately  in  front  of  the 
bastion  of  St.  Peter,  he  is  halted  by  a  sentry  of  the 
Regiment  of  Alsace,  and  demands  to  be  led  to  its 
commander. 

"  Musha!  How  are  ye,  Colonel?  The  Dillon's  been 
longing  for  you  for  weeks, "  cries  the  familiar  voice  of 
Lanty.  "I'll  take  you  to  him  at  the  sign  of  The  Golden 
Calf!" 

In  this  little  hostelry,  half  in  ruins  from  shot  and  shell, 
D'  Arnac  discovers  Dillon,  chatting  and  playing  cards 
with  two  or  three  of  the  officers  of  his  regiment. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  boy?"  cries  the  Irishman,  spring- 
ing up  from  the  table  and  seizing  Raymond's  out- 
stretched hand.  But  there  is  something  in  Raymond's 
face  which  makes  Dillon  say  hurriedly:  "You  want  to 
see  me?  Something  important?" 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  67 

"Life  and  death!     And  in  a  devil  of  a  hurry!" 

"This  way!"  and  the  Colonel  leads  the  young  man  into 
a  private  apartment;  the  little  girl  following  after  them. 

"We  don't  want  you  here,  little  Fraulein!"  says 
Dillon,  shortly.  "  Give  me  a  kiss  and  run  away!" 

"NEVER!"  cries  Jeanne,  with'  vicious  stamp  of  little 
foot. 

"Oh,  ho!  Mademoiselle  Vixen!"  laughs  O'Brien; 
then  he  cries  suddenly:  " Parbleu !  it's  your  little 
captive  of  the  other  night! " 

"  Yes — come  here  to  save  your  life! " 

"Faith!  and  she  looks  like  a  good  angel!  "  remarks 
the  Irish  Colonel.  As  in  truth  she  does,  for  la  petite 
Quinault,  dressed  in  the  uniform  of  the  convent,  which 
is  sufficiently  religious  to  take  from  her  piquant  face  its 
earthly  archness  and  alluring  »wue,  some  of  her  fair  hair 
floating  out  from  under  her  coif,  her  blue  eyes  big  with 
excitement,  her  little  hands  trembling  with  nervous 
tension,  appears  a  saint.  The  disorder  of  a  house 
occupied  by  soldiers  that  are  battling  day  by  day,  and 
drinking  night  by  night,  their  cries  and  curses  even 
now  coming  from  the  surrounding  rooms,  in  contrast 
with  her  slight  girlish  figure  'and  innocent  face,  makes 
her  appear  more  ethereal  than  she  is. 

"Now,"  interjects  D'Arnac,  hurriedly,  "tell  him  the 
story!  " 

"The  story  of  the  subterranean  passage  into  Fort  St. 
Peter?"  says  the  girl. 

"By  Jove!" 

"Yes!  " 

The  first  comes  from  O'Brien — the  second  issues  from 
the  lips  of  D'Arnac. 

"Then,"  says  the  child,  "I  have  told  you,  dear 
Monsieur  Raymond,  my  mother  is  very  beautiful,  and  a 
very  great  actress,  and  she  has  had,  as  is  usual  with  all 
grand  artistes,  admirers,  for  we  gave  three  perform- 
ances here  in  the  town  during  the  siege.  One  of  these 
gentlemen  is  Monsieur  le  liaron  Reinhart,  aide  to 
(irneral  de  Arsch,  the  Austrian  Commander.  He  had 
his  quarters  in  Fort  St.  Peter.  Sometimes  he  could  not 
get  leave,  and  at  his  request,  my  mother  (taking  me 
with  her)  would  visit  his  quarters  in  the  fort.  At  first 
my  mother  had  objected  to  this,  saying  that  she  would 


68  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

not  pass  tne  gateway  of  the  bastion  in  company  with 
Baron  Reinhart;  neither  would  she  be  willing  to  pass 
the  sentries,  as  it  might  cause  gossip;  for  my  mother  is 
a  very  prudent  lady. 

"Whereupon  the  Baron  said:  'That  can  all  be 
avoided.  There  is  a  subterranean  passage  through 
which  you  can  pass  unquestioned  to  the  Fort  St. 
Peter!'  Twice  I  went  with  her  through  it.  It  was  long 
and  damp  and  gloomy,  and  filled  with  barrels  so  close 
together  we  could  hardly  walk  between  them.  And 
Monsieur  le  Baron  being  with  us,  I  said  to  him,  '  What 
are  those  ?' 

"  '  Those,  my  dear,  are  what  you  must  be  very  care- 
ful of!'  he  replied.  'They  hold  the  gunpowder  with 
which  we  will  blow  up  the  French,  if  they  ever  try 
to  storm  the  fort.' 

"  'But,'  said  my  mother,  who  is  a  very  wise  woman, 
'  are  you  not  afraid  your  enemies  might  make  their  way 
into  the  fort,  through  this  very  entrance?' 

"'No!  If  we  are  compelled  to  evacuate  Fri- 
burg,  we  will  close  up  the  town  entrance  to  this 
passage,  which  is  known  only  to  me,  a  few  of  the 
officers,  and  the  Sergeant  who  is  accompanying  us  now, 
and  who  will  escort  you  back  on  your  return. '  Then 
he  went  on  very  sternly,  '  If  you  or  your  daughter  ever 
utter  a  word  of  this  I  will  have  you  shot  to  death. '  ' 

"  Faith,  an'  ye 're  not  afraid  of  the  Baron,"  mutters 
Dillon,  looking  meditative. 

"Of  course  not,  with  my  guardian,  Monsieur  Ray- 
mond, here!  "  says  the  little  maiden,  confidently,  giving 
D'Arnac  a  roguish  glance  and  courtesy  with  the  words. 

"Do  you  know  the  house  you  entered  the  subter- 
ranean passage  from  ? "  asks  Dillon,  springing  up. 

"Yes;  the  third  from  the  Inn  of  the  Golden  Calf." 
.."'The  Golden  Calf!'  That's  where  we  are  now!" 
cries  Raymond. 

"We  entered  from  the  cellar  of  the  house." 

"Quick!  show  us!  " 

And  the  three  run  down  the  stairs  into  the  streets, 
and  forcing  their  way  between  some  loitering  soldiers, 
march  straight  for  the  house  which  the  little  girl 
indicates.  It  is  unoccupied,  its  inhabitants  having  fled 
with  most  other  civilians,  from  the  storms  of  war. 


A     I'RINCF.SS     OF     PARIS.  69 

A  moment  after,  Dillon,  going  back  to  the  Inn, 
returns  with  a  flambeau,  and  they  enter  the  house- 
Pulling  up  a  trap  door,  they  find  a  little  stairway,  which 
has  apparently  been  made  in  a  hurry,  and  which  is 
unusual,  as  a  ladder  was  commonly  used  in  those  days. 

11  Now,"  says  O'Brien,  looking  around  the  walls, 
"  where?  " 

"There!"  cries  the  little  girl,  and  points  to  a  heap 
of  rubbish  on  the  side  of  the  apartment  nearest  Fort 
St.  Peter. 

"  I'll  bring  three  sappers  and  miners  at  once!  "  cries 
Dillon. 

"A  dozen!  The  assault  takes  place  to-morrow 
morning  at  eight!  "  whispers  D'Arnac. 

"Only  seven  hours — that  is  little  time!  God  bless 
the  child  all  the  same!  How  innocently  she  told  her 
story,  and  never  guessed  she  was  letting  us  know  her 
mother  was  a  very  naughty  girl.  Faith  I'll  bring  two 
dozen — this  must  be  a  quick  job!  " 

As  the  two  have  been  whispering,  they  have  sprung 
up  the  stairway,  carrying  Jeanne  with  them,  and 
Raymond  going  to  the  Inn,  gives  instruction  to  the 
host  and  his  wife— who  are  risking  German  bullets  for 
hope  of  profit — to  take  very  good  care  of  the  child  for 
the  night. 

Then  he  and  Dillon  and  relays  of  men,  lighted  by 
the  sickly  flicker  of  flambeaux,  attack  the  debris  and  the 
stones  and  boulders  and  portions  of  the  ruined  masonry 
that  have  been  thrown  in  by  the  Austrians  to  close  up 
and  conceal  any  trace  of  the  passage  into  the  Fort 
St.  Peter. 

"It  doesn't  even  sound  hollow!"  mutters  Lanty, 
who  has  come  down  to  help  them.  They  have  worked 
for  two  or  three  hours,  and  O'Brien  mutters:  "  Do  you 
think  little  Jeanne  has  been  fooling  you,  as  the  lady  I 
captured  fooled  me? " 

"No,"  answers  D'Arnac,  "I  believe  her  so  well  that 
I  think  our  lives  depend  upon  our  finding  this  passage 
before  the  signal  for  assault  is  given  !  " 

"  Our  lives!  " 

"  Yes!     I  go  by  your  side!  " 

"Absurd!" 

"I  have  already  volunteered!" 


70  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

"  You  foolish  boy !  "  whispers  Dillon,  leading  D'Arnac 
to  a  corner  of  the  cellar,  where  their  voices  are  drowned 
by  the  blows  of  the  sappers  and  miners  that  are  working 
incessantly.  "  Don't  you  see  that  you  are  giving  our 
friend,  Lenoir,  two  birds  to  kill  with  one  stone?  Don't 
you  know  that  the  Regiment  of  Alsace  are  now  getting 
the  posts  of  danger  and  certain  death?  Didn't  I  have 
nine  hundred  brave  men  with  me  when  we  manned  these 
houses,  and  after  fusilade,  assault,  and  counter-sortie, 
haven't  I  only  three  hundred  of  them  left!  Faith!  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  Du  Bourg's  Chief  of  Staff  knew  of 
this  very  mine  that  is  to  blow  us  all  up!  " 

"Then,  we  must  work  the  harder  to  disappoint 
him! "  answers  Raymond. 

They  urge  on  the  men,  relays  are  brought,  and  all 
work  like  demons  —  for  Dillon  has  told  them  their 
lives  depend  on  finding  this  passageway,  before  the 
assault  is  ordered.  That  when  the  bugles  so1; nd  "The 
Charge!"  this  passageway,  filled  with  gunpowder,  is 
what  they'll  have  to  run  over  before  they  reach  the 
glacis  of  the  Fort  St.  Peter. 

Stones  are  dragged  away,  and  the  men  work  stronger 
than  slaves  under  the  lash — stronger  than  money  could 
make  them — stronger  than  anything  but  the  fear  of 
death. 

So  they  toil  on,  and  it  is  now  six  o'clock,  and  Lanty, 
sounding,  says:  "Faix!  I  think  I  hear  a  hollow  ring 
through  the  stone  work  and  the  rubbish  now. " 

Encouraged  by  this,  a  new  relay  is  brought  in,  and 
fresh  men  attack  the  stone  work,  and  then  they  come  to 
some  impenetrable  obstacle,  and  D'Arnac  cries:  "  Good 
heavens !  they  have  made  a  solid  wall  of  masonry  from 
the  inside!" 

"Murder!  One  we  dare  not  blow  down  on 
account  of  the  powder  beyond  us!  The  mortar's  been 
setting  for  the  last  two  weeks,  and  is  now  as  hard  as 
flint!"  groans  Lanty. 

But  they  attack  this  with  drills  and  crowbars  and 
struggle  on,  while  overhead  the  firing  of  musketry  and 
boom  of  musketoons  tell  of  coming  daylight  and  begin- 
ning battle. 

It  is  now  seven  o'clock! 


A     PRINCESS     Ol-      PARIS.  7 1 

i 

Lanty  gives  a  howl  of  joy.  His  drill  pierces  the  wall 
and  finds  open  space  beyond. 

Working  like  men  whose  only  chance  is  speed,  the 
miners  chisel  and  pry  out  the  solid  masonry.  "  Faix ! 
This  gate  of  St.  Peter's  is  as  difficult  to  get  through  as 
if  it  was  the  real  gate  of  Heaven!"  mutters  Lanty. 

Half -past  seven  ! 

The  bugles  and  drums  are  sounding  the  assembly. 

"  Malediction !  We'll  not  have  time !  "  mutters  Dillon. 

"  I'll  fly  down  to  Du  Bourg  and  ask  him  for  half  an 
hour's  delay!  "  cries  D'Arnac,  and  hurries  away. 

But  in  the  narrow  mediaeval  streets  now  crowded  with 
soldiers  marching  to  the  ramparts,  he  cannot  find  his 
General  of  Division. 

Good  Lord!  he  is  too  late!  for  even  now  De 
Vivan's  drums. from  the  left  are  sounding  the  charge. 

Then  Raymond  suddenly  gasps:  "The  child!  The 
explosion  will  kill  her!  "  and  flies  back  into  the  inn  to 
find  the  "Golden  Calf"  is  deserted.  All  have  now 
fled  from  it,  save  a  few  soldiers,  who  are  now  acting  as 
sharpshooters  from  its  roof. 

D'Arnac  speeds  back  to  die  with  his  Irish  friend  if  he 
cannot  save  him. 

Springing  into  the  cellar  he  finds  the  miners  still 
working  like  beavers,  but  a  girl's  voice  horrifies  him. 

Little  Jeanne  is  standing  by  the  Irish  Colonel  and 
eagerly  saying:  "I  could  show  you  the  way,  if  you 
could  crawl  through  like  me.  Why  are  you  so  big  and 
broad-shouldered?  " 

"Quick!  Jeanne!  Away!"  commands  Raymond, 
hoarsely. 

"  I —  I —  only  came  here  to  see  if  you  had  found  the 
passage.  Don't  be  angry,  dear  Monsieur  Raymond!" 
pleads  the  little  girl. 

"  Yes,  take  her  away!  "  mutters  Dillon.  "  For  God's 
sake  leave  us!  The  long  roll  is  beating  and  I  must 
charge  with  my  men  !  " 

Just  here  there  is  a  cry  from  Lanty:  "  Faix!  I  have 
got  another  beastly  stone  out!  " 

"  If  you  could  get  through,  I  could  show  you  where 
the  trench  is  dug!  "  persists  the  child.  "It  is  marked 
with  small  flags." 

"What  trench?"     • 


72  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"The  one  the  Sergeant  said  would  light  the  gun- 
powder! "  explains  Jeanne.  Then  she  suddenly  cries: 
"Oh,  goodness  gracious!  you  have  done  it!" 

For  at  this  moment  D'Arnac,  with  the  agility  of 
twenty,  has  forced  his  way  through  the  hole,  which  is 
just  large  enough  to  permit  his  lithe,  scarce  fully 
developed  body  to  squeeze  through.  In  fact  he  leaves 
half  his  uniform  behind  him. 

"Holy  St.  Pathrick!  The  fool's  goin' to  fight  the 
Austrians  alone!  "  screams  Lanty,  for  none  of  the  men 
can  follow  the  young  officer,  though  some  have  tried. 

"Give  me  a  hatchet!  "  answers  D'Arnac. 

"Powers  of  Heaven!  what  are  ye  goin'  to  do?" 
whispers  Dillon,  seizing  Raymond's  arm  that  is  now 
thrust  back  in  the  cellar,  groping  for  some  sharp 
weapon. 

"  I  am  going  to  cut  the  port-fire  so  they  can't  explode 
the  mine.  Let  go  my  hand!  "  returns  D'Arnac. 

"  Not  without  me?  " 

"You  can't  get  through!  Colonel  Dillon,  your  place 
is  at  the  head  of  your  men.  Hold  them  back  as  long 
as  you  can  with  honor — then  CHARGE!  If  I  cut  the  port- 
fire, you're  saved  from  the  mine !  If  not,  we  go  together  / " 

"Together!"  whispers  Dillon,  wringing  his  friend's 
hand. 

"  Together!" 

To  this  the  Irishman  cries:  "Go  in  God's 
name!"  and  places  a  sharp  tomahawk  in  Raymond's 
groping  fingers. 

Then  D'Arnac  disappears  in  the  gloom  of  the 
passageway. 

"Come,  child,  quick,  run  back  into  the  town!" 
shouts  O'Brien,  hurrying  from  the  cellar,  for  his  orderly 
has  just  cried  to  him  his  regiment  is  mustered  and 
waiting.  But  on  getting  to  his  place  in  front  of  his 
command,  Dillon  sees  no  child  has  left  the  house. 

Then  the  drums  roll  out  the/aj  de  charge! 

Forward  he  must  go,  over  the  place  of  death — he  and 
his  three  hundred ! 

But  oh !  what  is  going  on  below  among  the  gunpow- 
der? 

In  intense  gloom,  Raymond  crawls  along. 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  73 

He  dare  not  walk.  A  stumble  that  would  disable  him 
would  destroy  him. 

It  is  pitch  dark. 

He  holds  out  groping  hands.  They  encounter  wood- 
en staves  and  iron  hoops — Hie  kegs  of  gunpowder  ! 

He  is  among  them — they  surround  him.  Have  they 
been  moved?  Is  all  passage  through  them  barred  to 
the  port  fire  that  may  even  now  be  burning  to  destroy 
him?  Must  he  stay  here  till  the  awful  roar  and — 
NOTHINGNESS! 

As  he  stumbles  about  he  feels  a  clutch  upon  his  arm. 

"God  bless  you,  Lanty!  "  he  whispers,  for  he  knows 
the  Irish  dare-devil  has  a  gaunt  frame  and  may  have 
squeezed  through. 

"  No,  it's  I!  "  whispers  a  girlish  voice. 

"Jeanne?  Back  for  the  Virgin's  sake!  "  groans 
D'Arnac. 

"No!  I  can  show  you  how  to  get  forward.  You've 
turned  wrong.  Follow  me!  " 

No  time  to  argue — only  to  act!    He  gropes  after  her. 

"  Quick!  take  my  dress  in  your  hand.  This  way!  I 
can  show  you  how  to  go  when  in  the  Austrian  fort!  " 

In  the  Austrian  fort?  Will  they  get  there,  or  will  the 
gigantic  roar  and  death  reach  them  first  ? 

They  are  groping  on !  His  grasp  meets  only  barrels 
and  barrels — gunpowder  everywhere!  How  slow  they 
move,  creeping  on  hands  and  knees.  At  this  pace  they 
are  lost! 

"Quicker!"  he  gasps.      "Jeanne,  quicker!" 

"  I  can't!     The  barrels  stop  me!  " 

" Mordieu!  you've  lost  the  path!" 

"No!     I've  found  the  turn!  " 

"Thank  Heaven!  " 

"  Now  we  can  walk — the  walls  are  higher — we  can 
run!  " 

"Thank  God!  "  whispers  D'Arnac,  and  speeds  after 
her;  slime  u'nder  foot,  a  faint  glimmer  in  front,  and 
sudden  death  all  about  them. 

Will  these  barrels  never,  never  end  ? 

At  last  a  vaulted  way,  subdued  lijrht  and  THE  LAS1 
BARREL! 

"  Quick!  the  trench  of  the  port-fire!  "  he  gasps. 

"There!     See  the  little  flags!  " 


74  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"My  God!  the  smell  of  burning  fuse!"  he  groans. 
"Fiends  of  Hell!  The  slow  match  is  lighted  and 
burning  towards  the  powder!  " 

He  runs  back  to  the  last  barrel  and  feels  in  semi- 
darkness  for  the  port-fire ! 

He  has  it — where  it  enters  the  bung  hole!  Then 
his  axe  flashes  and  he  cuts  the  fuse  just  in  time! — ONE 
INCH  AND  ONE  SECOND  AHEAD  OF  THE  SPARK  OF 
DEATH! 

Then  a  great,  strong  breath  of  relief!  He  pulls  the 
disconnected  fuse  away,  and  tossing  it  on  one  side, 
stands  dazed,  trembling,  almost  unnerved — death  has 
looked  him  so  straight  in  the  face. 

A  second  after  a  little  hand  is  laid  upon  his  arm,  and 
a  voice  that  has  grown  dear  to  him  whispers:  "The 
coming  steps." 

The  Austrians!  Come  back  to  see  why  the  mine 
has  failed!  They'll  overpower  him,  and  his  risk  has 
been  for  naught. 

"Quiet!"  he  whispers  to  the  little  girl  as  he  peers 
out  of  the  darkness. 

Two  men  are  coming — a  sergeant  and  a  corporal. 
Brave  men  they  must  be,  to  volunteer  to  enter  a  mine 
already  fired. 

They  are  looking  for  danger,  but  not  such  as  meets 
them. 

He  is  the  unexpected  ! 

As  they  bend  down  over  the  severed  fuse,  with  his 
.tomahawk  he  brains  them  both!  Without  a  cry,  almost 
without  a  shudder,  they  fall  and  die. 

"Assassin!  "  shrieks  little  Jeanne,  and,  wringing  her 
hands,  she  flies  from  D'Arnac. 

Raymond  must  overtake  her.  If  she  alarms  the  fort 
before  it  is  gained  by  his  friends,  he  is  lost.  He  follows 
her  and  catches  her  just  as  she  enters  the  main  vaults 
of  the  bastion.  But  the  soldiers  are  all  on  the  ramparts, 
away  from  the  expected  explosion.  D'Arnac  hears 
distant  cheering  though  there  is  no  firing. 

"Don't  be  frightened,  little  one,"  he  says,  holding 
her  hands. 

"Let  me  go,  murderer!  "  mutters  the  girl,  shudder- 
ing from  him. 

"  It  was  not  murder." 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  75 

"  Not  murder?"     The  blue  eyes  open  wide  at  him. 

"  It  was  war!  " 

"War?  Then  never  let  me  see  more  of  it!  "  And 
the  child  would  shrink  from  him  again,  but  he  retains 
her,  speaks  soothingly  to  her,  telling  her  that  she  holds 
his  life  in  her  hands.  If  the  Austrians  discover  him 
he  will  be  killed.  That  he  had  to  do  it  to  save  the  lives 
of  all  those  brave  men  she  saw  working  all  the  night. 
That  he  has  always  been  kind  to  her. 

And  she  murmurs:  "Always  kind  tome/  But,  oh ! 
how  cruel  to  others,!" 

Even  as  D'Arnac  whispers,  he  knows  danger  has 
passed  from  him.  The  Austrian  drums  are  beating  the 
chamade  on  the  ramparts  above  him — a  token  of 
surrender,  for  their  mine  has  failed  them. 

Another  second,  and  he  hears  the  wild  cheer  of 
Dillon's  regiment  climbing  over  the  ramparts. 

Then  he  rushes  up  the  stairs  from  the  vaults  to  the 
battery,  and  before  his  eyes  are  reconciled  to  the  bright 
light  of  the  sun,  he  is  in  the  arms  of  his  Irish  comrade, 
who  is  embracing  him,  and  crying  over  him:  "Thank 
God!  You  got  through  in  time!  You  stopped  those 
beggars  blowing  us  up  to  Heaven  or  Hell!  " 

And  Lanty,  forgetting  discipline,  is  thumping  him  on 
the  back  and  yelling:  "Musha!  'twas  hard  work 
walking  over  the  gunpowder!  What  must  it  have  been 
to  crawl  through  it?  God  bless  ye  for  saving  our 
lives!  " 

But  D'Arnac  simply  says:  "It  was  not  I  who 
stopped  the  Austrians  firing  the  mine!  " 

"  Faith  was  it  bad  powder?"  asks  O'Brien. 

"  No!  only  the  little  girl!     She  saved  us  all!  " 

So  D'Arnac  telling  them  the  story,  the  soldiers 
crowd  round  the  little  maiden,  and  thank  her,  and 
O'Brien  Dillon  walking  up,  says:  "My  little  lady, 
you've  preserved  the  lives  of  three  hundred  brave  men 
to-day!  As  Colonel  of  the  Regiment  of  Alsace,  I  shall 
ask  permission  from  the  Marechal  to  carry  your  name  on 
our  banner!"  With  this  he  makes  her  the  profound 
bow  of  ceremony,  but  does  not  offer  to  kiss  'Miss 
Distant,'  as  he  did  the  night  before. 

Perhaps  there  is  something  in  her  eye  that  still  says.: 
"NEVER!" 


76  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

A  moment  after,  he  incidentally  remarks  to  Raymond: 
"  By  the  powers!  It  wks  the  old  story  of  the  mouse  and 
the  lion,  over  again  !  " 

This  the  little  girl,  who  chances  to  be  near  them, 
overhearing,  she  laughs  in  the  Irish  Colonel's  good- 
humored  face:  "But  you  were  not  my  lion!  Pooh! 
Do  you  suppose  I  risked  my  life  to  save  yours?" 

"  Faith  I  seldom  compliment  myself  when  ladies  are 
concerned !"  replies  O'Brien.  "Whom  did  you  do  it  for?  " 

"  It  was  to  save  his  life!  " 

"His!     Whose?" 

"The  hero  of  the  play,  of  course,  Colonel  Raymond 
d'Arnac,  my  guardian!  "  And  she  walks  to  this  young 
gentleman,  who  is  conversing  with  some  of  the  Austrian 
officers  (for  both  sides  in  this  war  of  enmity  between 
two  kings  generally  treated  each  other  very  much 
as  comrades,  when  truce  or  parley  permitted),  and 
courtesying  humbly  to  the  astonished  Raymond,  she 
kisses  his  hand  and  makes  obeisance  to  him,  saying: 
"  Mon  Seigneur!" 


CHAPTER  VII. 

LOOK    FOR    ALL    THINGS    IN    PARIS. 

As  THIS  happens,  Dillon  and  D'Arnac  receive  orders 
to  make  their  reports  in  person  to  De  Villars. 

At  the  very  gate  of  the  bastion  they  are  halted  by  an 
orderly,  and  asked  to  step  into  a  house  that  is  occupied  as 
the  temporary  headquarters  of  the  Marechal  of  France. 
Here  they  find  De  Villars  and  De  Arsch,  the  Austrian 
commander,  who  are  settling  the  terms  of  surrender. 

"What  new  adventure  is  this,  I  hear?"  cries  the 
Marechal.  "Have  you  both  gained  another  step?  I 
see  you've  got  the  bastion." 

"You  needn't  thank  me  for  this  one,  Monsieur  le 
Due!"  answers  Dillon.  "  Thank  your  own  countryman 
— the  Frenchman." 

But  D'Arnac  laughs:  "If  there  is  any  promotion 
give  it  to  this  young  lady !"  And  introducing  Jeanne 
to  his  chief,  Raymond  says:  "  Tell  him  your  story, 
petite  !  " 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  77 

At  which  the  little  girl  becomes  a  comedienne  and  tells 
her  tale  to  De  Villars  and  his  staff,  and  to  the  Austrian 
Commander,  who  looks  very  gloomily  on,  as  he  learns 
how  his  fort  was  lost — through  the  amours  of  one  of  his 
officers. 

This  little  Jeanne  does,  with  all  the  airs  of  her 
profession,  imitating  Dillon,  until  he  blows  his  nose  to 
conceal  his  confusion,  and  taking  off  the  brogue  of  Mr. 
Lanty,  in  a  wild  kind  of  Irish-French,  that  makes  the 
tears  roll  down  the  bronzed  and  wrinkled  cheeks  of  the 
old  Marechal  of  France. 

As  she  concludes,  he  takes  her  in  his  arms  and  kisses 
her,  though  she  cries  "NEVER!*"  But  a  marechal  of 
France  is  not  put  off  so  easily  as  an  Irish  colonel,  and 
he  says:  " Petite!  were  I  King  of  France,  I  would 
make  you  a  countess — but  as  I  am  only  a  gruff  old 
soldier,  all  I  can  say  is,  call  on  Le  Due  de  Villars  when 
you  want  a  friend!  " 

Then  he  turns  to  De  Arsch,  the  Austrian  Commander, 
saying:  "  The  terms  of  the  surrender,  as  I  understand 
it,  agreed  upon  by  us,  Baron,  are,  that  you  march  the 
garrison  out  with  the  honors  of  war,  and  join  Prince 
Eugene  at  Etlingen,  leaving  all  stores,  ammunitions, 
and  the  batteries  uninjured,  to  be  occupied  by  the 
army  under  my  command.  Is  that  the  understanding!  " 

"Yes,  Marechal,"  replies  De  Arsch,  who  has  been 
chewing  a  grizzled  moustache  very  savagely  as  he  has 
listened  to  the  little  girl's  recital,  "with  one  condi- 
tion." 

"  Humph !    no  condition !  " 

"  One!  Listen  to  me.  I  demand  ten  minutes  before 
I  surrender!  " 

"  \Vhy?" 

"  Five  minutes  to  assemble  a  drum-head  court 
martial  and  try  Reinhart  for  neglect  of  duty!  Five 
minutes  more  to  shoot  him  to  death  with  a  file  of  mus- 
keteers." 

"And  if  not  granted?"  says  De  Villars. 

"  Then  I  will  fight  you  until  I  have  time  to  execute 
the  traitor." 

"Under  these  circumstances,  the  ten  minutes  are 
allowed!  "  remarks  the  French  Marechal,  and  De  Arsch 
pushes  his  way  through  the  crowd,  muttering 


78  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

between  his  clinched  teeth:  "  Though  he  is  my  cousin, 
I'll  teach  him  to  betray  the  secrets  of  my  fortifications 
to  aid  his  assignations  with  an  actress!  " 

Ten  minutes  after  there  is  a  sound  of  plontoon  firing 
on  the  glacis  of  Fort  St.  Peter.  Then  the  flag  of  Austria 
'is  lowered.  A  moment  after  the  German  bugles 
sound  and  the  fifes  play  the  quick  march,  as  the  infan- 
try of  the  House  of  Hapsburg  march  out  with  drums 
beating  and  colors  flying  with  the  honors  of  war,  and 
defile  through  the  streets  of  Friburg,  to  take  route  for 
the  camp  of  Eugene  of  Savoy. 

The  next  day  the  Marechal  sends  for  the  two  com- 
rades. "Three  months  ago,"  he  remarks  to  them, 
"the  exploit  of  yesterday  would  have  given  you  both  a 
step;  you  would  have  become  generals.  As  it  is,  I 
fear  now  the  war  is  closed,  promotion  will  be  slow,  and 
the  army  will  be  cut  down.  You  probably  will  not 
receive  your  rank  immediately,  though  I  shall  send  my 
recommendation  to  the  King  to  that  effect.  As  it  is, 
all  I  can  offer  you  as  certainty  is  an  empty  honor — 
that  of  attending  me,  as  members  of  my  suite,  to 
Rastadt,  where  I  am  going  to  meet  Prince  Eugene,  to 
arrange  the  terms  of  peace  between  his  Most  Christian 
Majesty  of  France  and  his  Most  Imperial  Majesty  of 
Austria." 

A  mark  of  such  favor  from  the  Marechal  in  Chief  is 
equivalent  to  command  and  is  immediately  accepted  by 
the  two  young  men,  for  Dillon  himself  is  only  twenty- 
eight  as  he  stands  a  Colonel  of  France  before  De  Villars. 

The  day  after,  relays  being  furnished  by  the  French 
Government,  De  Villars,  attended  by  a  magnificent  staff, 
journeys  up  the  Rhine  past  Strassburg,  and  in  three  days 
finds  himself  at  Rastadt,  little  Jeanne  accompanying 
the  cavalcade  in  a  coach  furnished  her  by  subscription 
of  the  officers  of  the  Regiment  of  Alsace,  who  are 
inclined  to  make  her  their  goddess,  for  the  child's 
piquant  beauty  and  theatric  airs  have  won  the  hearts  of 
those  she  has  saved  from  death  in  the  assault. 

Several  times,  De  Villars  himself,  at  the  towns  they 
stop  at  over  night,  has  her  at  his  dinner  table,  gives  her 
bonbons,  and  makes  much  of  her,  in  his  courtly,  yetgrave 
way,  and  one  evening  says:  "We  must  find  a  husband 
for  you,  my  little  princess!  " 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  79 

In  truth,  that  is  what  she  looks,  for  Jeanne  is  dressed 
now  after  the  granite  monde,  Raymond  having  squandered 
almost  his  last  /out's  (Tor,  as  her  guardian,  to  give  her  a 
proper  outfit  of  linen,  silks,  satins  and  laces,  and  a  maid 
to  attend  on  her,  for  he  is  very  proud  of  his  protege — 
his  ward  as  he  calls  her — and  very  grateful  to  her,  for  he 
knows  he  owes  his  life  to  her. 

To  this  speech  the  little  lady  bows  with  graceful  cere- 
mony, and  surprises  the  Mar^chal  by  replying  gravely: 
"On  that  you  must  ask  my  guardian,  my  Seigneur, 
Colonel  le  Comte  d'Arnac — I  have  made  oath  of  fealty 
to  him,  and  he  has  the  disposal  of  his  vassal." 

"  Mon  Dieu!"  answers  the  Duke,  "  You  talk  as  if  it 
were  two  hundred  years  ago,  in  the  Feudal  ages." 

"Yes;  I  got  that  speech  out  of  a  masque  played 
before  Louis  the  Ninth,"  returns  Mademoiselle,  courte- 
sying  again. 

At  which  De  Villars  bursts  into  a  laugh;  but  Jeanne 
having  gone  away,  he  suddenly  orders:  "Send  Colonel 
d'Arnac  here  at  once  !  " 

Then  the  two  being  alone  together  the  Marechal  looks 
sternly  at  his  colonel  and  says:  "  D'Arnac,  what  are  you 
going  to  do  with  this  pretty  captive  of  your  bow  and 
spear  ? " 

"You  mean  little  Jeanne  ?" 

"Yes! — Answer  me  as  man  to  man." 

"  Then,  as  man  to  man,  I  am  going  to  take  Mademoi- 
selle Quinault  to  the  ladies  of  my  family  in  France.  If 
they  will  accept  her  care  she  shall  stay  with  them.  If 
not,  she  shall  be  educated  in  a  good  convent." 

"  And  afterwards  ?  " 

"Afterwards!  I  shall  provide  for  her  future  as  if  she 
were  a  daughter  of  the  House  d'Arnac."  •  Then,  seeing 
the  cloud  on  his  chief's  face,  Raymond  bursts  out:  "My 
God!  What  do  you  think  of  me  that  you  ask  such 
questions?  Don't  I  know  she  saved  my  life  as  well  as 
that  of  Dillon  and  all  his  regiment  ?  " 

"  I  think  of  you,"  answers  De  Villars,  his  face  grow- 
ing genial  and  his  voice  hearty,  "as  a  very  young  and 
very  honorable  gentleman.  I  am  delighted,  Raymond, 
the  camp  has  not  destroyed  your  good  heart  as  it  does 
so  many  of  my  officers.  This  little  lady  ha^  given 
herself  into  your  keeping;  see  that  you  use  wisdom  as 


80  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

well  as  honor  in  her  direction ;  for,  by  my  troth !  a  few 
years  from  now  she'll  be  more  difficult  to  manage  than 
an  army.  But  if  trouble  conies  to  you  call  on  De  Villars. 
He  has  beaten  Eugene  of  Savoy,  and  '11  help  you  manage 
this  young  woman,  and  also  assist  you  as  to  her  '  dot.' 
There  will  be  many  suitors  for  her  bright  eyes.  Some 
day  she  will  think  of  marriage.  Now  good-night,  my 
dear  boy.  I'm  very  much  pleased  with  you."  And  the 
Marechal  of  France  gives  his  young  colonel  a  mighty 
squeeze. 

Coming  out  from  this  interview,  Raymond  thinks: 
' '  No  wonder  he  wins  his  battles !  Who  wouldn't  die  for 
De  Villars  ? " 

The  next  morning  they  journey  on,  and  one  fine  winter 
day  toward  the  last  of  the  year  1713,  with  sounding 
salute  of  cannon,  De  Villars  and  his  party  ride  in  and 
take  quarters  in  the  palace  of  Rastadt. 

Here  he  is  shortly  joined  by  his  old  but  honored 
adversary,  the  Prince  Eugene  of  Savoy,  who  comes, 
attended  by  a  brilliant  suite,  from  his  lines  at  Etlingen. 
And  for  sixty  odd  days  these  two  semi-mediaeval 
warriors  alternately  entertain  each  other  at  dinner  each 
night,  and  talk  politics  and  terms. of  armistice  and 
surrender  of  fortresses,  and  replacement  of  national 
lines  during  the  daytime,  though  even  in  sixty  days 
they  do  not  agree  as  to  conditions,  and  the  terms  they 
have  partially  drawn  up  are  referred  to  their  respective 
courts. 

But  within  two  weeks  afterwards,  on  the  6th  day  of 
March,  1714,  are  ratified  by  the  Treaty  of  Rastadt. 

During  this  time  Raymond,  finding  safe  convoy  for 
Mademoiselle  Quinault,  dispatches  that  young  lady  with 
a  long  letter  of  introduction  to  the  care  of  his  aunt, 
the  Countess  de  Crevecoeur,  in  Paris.  He  feels 
relieved  to  get  rid  of  the  immediate  charge  of  her, 
especially  as  the  beauty  of  his  protege  has  caused 
remarks  that  are,  some  of  them,  not  altogether  equiv- 
ocal as  to  his  generosity  in  regard  to  the  little  lady's 
clothes  and  equipage. 

So  la  petite  bids  him  good-bye,  though  her  blue  eyes 
are  very  teary  as  she  says,  playfully,  but  pathetically: 
"Adieu,  Monsieur  Hero  of  the  play,  till  the  hammer 
raps  for  the  second  act." 


A     PRINCESS     OK      PARIS.  8 1 

As  she  is  driven  away,  D'Arnac  reasons  that  little 
Jeanne  is  much  better  off  in  the  care  of  the  ladies  of 
his  family  than  in  this  town  of  Rastadt,  with  its  crowds 
of  gay  officers  dicing  and  gaming;  for  many  of  both  the 
Austrian  and  French  armies  have  congregated  there, 
and  fetes  and  dinner  parties  are  taking  place  by  day  and 
by  night. 

At  one  of  the  last  of  these,  given  by  the  Austrian 
General  in  Chief  in  celebration  of  the  signing  of  the 
articles  of  peace,  that  have  this  day  been  ratified  by 
both  governments,  it  chances  that  both  he  and  O'Brien 
Dillon  are  present.  Prince  Eugene,  having  heard  of 
their  very  distinguished  conduct  at  Friburg,  both  by 
general  report  and  the  very  flattering  words  of  Marechal 
de  Villars,  spoken  to  him  privately,  is  inclined  to  make 
much  of  them,  and  these  young  gentlemen  find  them- 
selves much  higher  up  the  board  than  officers  of  their 
rank  or  their  age  might  expect. 

This  dinner,  drawing  towards  its  close,  and  the  wine 
being  passed  very  freely  (a^  it  always  did  among  the 
military  of  those  days,  when  they  could  get  any),  they 
are  all  in  a  laughing  and  happy  humor,  and  the  formal 
toasts  to  the  rulers  of  both  countries  being  drunk, 
and  the  conversation  growing  informal,  De  Villars,  who 
sits  at  the  right  of  his  host,  in  post  of  honor,  and  has 
been  chatting  and  laughing  with  him,  for  these  two  old 
antagonists  have  always  respected  each  other's  fighting 
qualities,  and  their  sixty  days'  diplomatic  intercourse 
has  made  them  great  friends,  says  laughingly:  "I 
presume  your  next  campaign,  your  Highness,  will  be 
on  the  banks  of  the  Danube,  and  not  against  Christians, 
but  against  the  Infidel.  May  it  be  as  fortunate  as  that 
of  your  last  defense  of  Christendom!  " 

Then  rising,  he  calls  out  in  his  hearty  voice: 
"Gentlemen,  fill  your  glasses!  I  drink  to  the  hero  of 
Zenta!"  —  referring  to  that  battle  in  which  Prince 
Eugene  had  given  the  Ottomans  their  most  terrible 
thrashing  since  the  siege  of  Vienna. 

At  tliis  there  is  great  cry  ami  wild  applause  for  the 
hero  of  Xenta. 

Returning  thanks  for  this  compliment,  I'riiuv 
Eugene  of  Savoy,  warming  to  his  subject,  depict- 
the  awful  horrors  of  Mohammedan  invasion,  when 


82  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

the  ladies  of  Austria  and  Hungary  were  carried 
off  to  the  harems  of  Constantinople,  the  captives  of 
higher  rank  held  for  exorbitant  ransom,  the  captives 
of  lower  rank  sold  for  slaves,  and  the  country  made  a 
waste  of  destroyed  castles,  violated  homes  and  burning 
villages.  Then  he  goes  on:  "But  with  such  armies  as 
that  of  yours,  Monsieur  le  Due  de  Villars,  and  that  of 
my  own,  Christendom  no  longer  fears  the  Ottoman. 
For  I  know  both  of  them  would  use  bayonet  and  sword, 
and  musket  against  the  legions  of  Allah,  even  more 
stoutly  than  they  did  against  each  other!  " 

This  being  received  with  great  clinking  of  glasses  and 
shouts  of  applause,  his  Highness  of  Savoy,  who  is  an 
excellent  recruiting  officer,  cries  out:  "What  French- 
man will  volunteer  to  go  with  me  and  fight  the 
Turk?" 

At  this,  O'Brien  Dillon,  filled  with  wine  and  enthu- 
siasm, springs  on  the  table  and,  drawing  his  blade  and 
waving  it  on  high,  cries:  "Here's  an  Irish  sword  for 
you  as  well  as  a  French  one!  " 

In  a  second,  Count  d'Estrades  and  half  the  French 
officers  in  the  room  are  on  the  tables  beside  him,  flash- 
ing their  sabres  and  crying:  "  Death  to  the  Ottoman !  " 

"  Marble  it!"  laughs  De  Villars  himself,  carried  away 
by  the  enthusiasm,  "we'll  all  go  with  you,  Prince,  if  we 
can  get  the  permission  of  our  master,  his  Most  Christian 
Majesty  of  France." 

"  On  that  subject  I  would  talk  to  you,"  says  Eugene, 
and,  after  a  little,  the  two  leave  the  dinner  party 
together,  which  shortly  after  breaks  up,  with  no  more 
result  than  that  a  number  of  French  officers,  obtaining 
permission  from  the  French  Government,  do  in  the 
course  of  the  next  few  months,  volunteer  to  assist  the 
Emperor  of  Austria  against  the  enemy  of  the  Church  of 
Christ. 

In  O  Brien  Dillon's  case  it  takes  more  immediate  and 
pointed  result. 

The  next  afternoon  D'Arnac  sees  Mr.  Lanty  hurriedly 
packing  up  his  master's  impedimenta,  for  O'Brien  and 
he  occupy  the  same  quarters. 

"You're  in  a  hurry  to  go  to  Paris  to  find  Madame 
O'Brien  Dillon,  eh?  "  laughs  D'Arnac,  noting  the  excite- 
ment of  the  Irishman. 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  83 

"  To  go  to  Paris  ?  Musha  !  we're  bound  for  Constan- 
tinople!" cries  Lanty.  "They  say  the  plunder  is 
something  beautiful  in  that  country." 

"You  don't  mean  it  ?"  ejaculates  Raymond,  excit- 
edly. 

"  Shure  as  I'm  a  Catholic!  "  answers  Lanty. 

This  information  is  confirmed  by  O'Brien,  who  comes 
hurriedly  in,  saying:  "Faith,  my  boy,  good-bye  is  the 
word!  I'm  going  to  Vienna!  " 

"Impossible!  You're  an  officer  in  the  French 
service." 

"Yesterday  I  was.  To-day  I'm  an  officer  in  the 
Austrian!"  Then  the  Irishman  continues,  hurriedly: 
"This  morning  Mare"chal  De  Villars,  God  bless  him! 
sent  for  me,  and  spoke  the  kindest  words  I  have 
ever  heard  in  my  life.  It  was  something  to  this  effect: 
That  his  Highness,  the  Prince  Eugene  of  Savoy,  had 
asked  for  me  especially,  upon  hearing  the  Duke's 
report  of  my  conduct  at  Friburg,  and  had  offered  me  a 
colonelcy  in  the  Austrian  army — a  crack  regiment  of 
dragoons  at  that!  At  first  I  hesitated,  said  I  hoped  to 
go  to  Paris,  as  I  had  a  little  affair  to  settle  with  me 
Uncle  Johnny. 

"  '  Never  mind  your  uncle,'  said  he.  '  Let  me  tell 
you  entre  nous.  You  won't  have  any  money  to  go 
to  Paris.  Don't  you  know  the  army  is  in  arrears  for 
over  twelve  months  ? ' 

"  '  Faith,  my  pocket  knows  that  too  well! '  said  I. 

"  '  Do  you  think  there  will  be  any  money  now  to  pay 
the  army  ?  Don't  you  know  the  country  is  entirely 
bankrupted  by  this  war  ? '  said  De  Villars  to  me  confi- 
dentially. '  Besides  that,  the  number  of  our  regiments 
will  certainly  be  cut  down.  Even  with  my  interest,  I 
doubt  whether  I  can  retain  you  in  the  service.  There 
will  be  too  many  of  high  family  and  courtly  influence 
running  around  after  my  master,  the  King,  for  even 
De  Villars,  his  old  servant,  to  be  able  to  save  all  the 
officers  he  wants.  Now,  if  you  leave  the  French  service 
with  my  permission,  I  can  get  you  immediately  your 
arrears  of  pay.  I  will  take  that  upon  myself!  You, 
as  I  understand  it,  depend  entirely  on  active  service 
for  your  success  in  life.  Think  of  the  spoils  of  an 
Ottoman  camp.' 


»4  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

"  His  talk  of  'spoils  '  made  me  remember  my  plunder 
of  the  Low  Countries  and  I  became  as  anxious  as  a 
terrier  dog  smelling  rats. 

"•'  Do  you  think  there  will  be  much  plunder,  Monsieur 
le  Marechal  ? '  said  I. 

"'Faith!'  laughed  he,  'you'll  never  know  what 
plunder  is  until  you  get  there.' 

"With  that  I  give  him  my  word,  and  my  papers  are 
even  now  being  made  out. 

"Then  he  went  on,  crying:  'Colonel,  if  there  was 
any  employment  for  you  in  the  army  of  France,  do  you 
suppose  I'd  give  you  up  to  any  other  general  on  earth  ?' 
And  complimented  me  and  made  me  feel  a  hero;  and 
then  said :  '  Good-bye !  God  bless  you !  And  don't 
come  back  unless  you're  a  general!' 

"  '  Faith!  you  might  as  well  make  it  a  field  marshal!  ' 
I  remarked. 

"'Faith!  and  you  may !' he  replied,  laughing,  'and 
with  a  handle  to  your  name  besides.  Look  at  Count 
Browne.  The  Austrians  are  very  partial  to  your 
countrynren,  and  the  Emperor  throws  his  titles  at  the 
feet  of  good  generals.  Besides,  the  Vienna  ladies  are 
very  rich  and  very  beautiful !  ' 

"At  which  I  came  away  very  thoughtful,  for  the 
Marechal's  little  joke  had  put  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon 
in  me  head,  and  by  me  soul!  if  I  had  enough  crowns  in 
my  pocket  to  take  me  to  her  in  Paris,  and  to  give  her 
the  establishment  of  a  gentlewoman,  as  my  rank  and 
her  beauty  entitles  her  to,  all  the  Turks  in  the 
world  would  not  drag  me  from  seeing  Paris.  As  it 
is,  Raymond,  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor  when  you  get 
there." 

"Anything!  "  replies  D'Arnac. 

"Well,  this  is  simple.  Find  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon. 
She's  somewhere  in  high  society,  you  can  be  sure  of 
that.  Find  her  and  give  her  this  letter  that  I  have 
written.  Will  ye  do  it?" 

"  As  I  am  your  friend!  " 

"Then  it  is  settled,"  answers  the  Colonel  delivering 
the  epistle.  "Now,  please  don't  talk  to  me  of  her 
again,  because  when  I  think  of  her,  I  grow  desperate!" 
and  O'Brien  goes  off  with  tears  in  his  eyes  to  see  that 
his  horses  will  be  ready  for  him  within  the  hour. 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  85 

After  he  has  gone,  D'Arnac,  meditating  upon  his 
errand,  concludes  the  finding  of  his  friend's  wife  will  be 
a  difficult  matter,  as  she  doubtless  does  not  bear  O'Brien 
Dillon's  name.  For  further  information  consequently 
he  applies  to  Lanty,  who  is  busy  about  his  master's  bag- 
gage in  the  next  room,  and  is  easy  of  access. 

"You  heard,"  Raymond  says,  "my  promise  to 
deliver  a  letter  to  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon?" 

"  Faix  and  I  did!  I  was  wondering  to  myself  how 
you'd  find  her!  "  laughs  Lanty. 

"That's  why  I  ask  your  assistance.  Give  a  descrip- 
tion of  her!  " 

"Musha!  I  can  do  better  than  that,"  says  Lanty 
with  a  grin.  "  I'll  give  you  her  likeness." 

"  Her  what  ?  "  gasps  Raymond,  astonished. 

"  Her  miniature !  It's  with  diamonds  all  'round  it  on 
ivory!  When  the  Colonel  and  I  stole  her  baggage  that 
night,  we  were  conveying  Miss  Hilda'Van  Hoist  from 
Namur.  For  my  portion  of  the  plunder  I  secured  this!" 
and  Lanty,  producing  from  his  haversack  a  little  tin 
case  covered  with  velvet,  opens  it,  and  placing  it  in  the 
astonished  D'Arnac's  hand,  says  proudly:  "What  do 
you  think  of  Madam  O'Brien  Dillon  ?  " 

"  A-a-ah  !  "  This  is  a  gasp  of  astonished  wonder  and 
delight  from  the  young  Frenchman.  He  had  thought 
Dillon's  rhapsody  on  his  captive  bride  the  raving  of  a 
wild  Irishman's  romance,  but  the  face  before  him  defies 
description,  for  the  first  moment  he  looks  at  it,  all  it 
means  to  Raymond  is  beauty  bewildering,  alluring. 

No  blue  eyes  so  dark  before,  but  still  so  blue,  so 
passionate,  so  appealing;  no  hair  so  Titian  red  though 
every  lock  has  golden  gleams;  no  mouth  so  alluringly 
romantic  as  her  coral  lips  laugh  "Love  me  for  I  love 
you — and  another  ;"  no  cheeks  so  rounded  yet  delicate 
and  blushing. 

Beneath  this  face,  a  neck  of  ivory  satin,  and  arms, 
shoulders,  and  bosom  of  Greek's  fairest  statue,  with 
gleaming  snow  tints;  for  this  miniature  is  the  work  of 
some  Flemish  master.  And  after  the  custom  of  the 
time  and  the  school  of  Sir  Peter  Lely,  the  girl  has 
been  painted  in  a  deshabille  vi  light  lawn  and  fairy  lair, 
that  scarcely  conceals  the  marvelous  beauties  of  her 
form  and  graces  of  her  figure. 


86  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

"By  the  divil's  tail!  Do  you  think  Saint  Antony 
could  have  turned  a  cold  shoulder  to  that!"  mutters 
Lanty,  glancing  at  the  picture.  "  Don't  I  myself,  when 
the  master  ain't  about,  sneak  a  look  at  it  on  the  sly,  it's 
so  beautiful !  " 

"But  this  is  not  her  real  likeness?"  asks  D'Arnac. 
"  It  exaggerates  her  loveliness!  " 

"  Oh  wirra!  It  don't  do  her  justice,"  laments  Lanty. 
' '  Add  to  that  the  fascinations  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  who 
ruined  Solomon,  and  the  divilish  arts  of  Cleopatra,  who 
put  Antony  in  her  pocket,  and  ye've  only  half  the 
charms  of  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon.  Bad  cess  to  her!  ' 

"And  her  husband  never  spoke  to  me  of  this!" 
returns  D'Arnac,  his  eyes  still  devouring  the  beauty  of 
the  portrait. 

"Faix,  and  he  doesn't  know  anything  about  it.  The 
diamonds  around  it  are  worth  one  hundred  louis.  I 
was  keeping  it  for  a  very  rainy  day,  and,  by  me  soul!  if 
he'd  seen  her  features  he'd  never  let  me  sell  it,  or  pawn 
it,  or  make  any  decent  use  of  her  treacherous  face.  In 
fact,  I've  been  afraid  to  let  him  put  eyes  on  it,  because 
when  he  thinks  of  her,  he  goes  into  such  spasms  of 
jealous  rage  against  her  and  her  Uncle  Johnny,  it 
makes  him  sick  for  a  week.  Besides,  the  less  he  thinks 
of  that  divil  the  better  it  is  for  him." 

"You  don't  seem  to  like  her!"  remarks  D'Arnac. 
"You  think  she  betrayed  him?" 

"  She  did  worse  !" 

"Worse?" 

"She  betrayed  me!  Faix,  I  could  forgive  her 
betraying  the  Colonel — he's  her  husband — that's  natural. 
But  she  betrayed  me  also!  Didn't  I  see  her  speaking 
to  the  Austrians  while  they  were  surrounding  the 
house,  when  she  pretended  she'd  gone  out  to  look  for 
her  dog.  Musha,  was  it  a  dog  that  was  scratching  at 
the  window  ?  Don't  I  know  it  was  an  Austrian  officer  ? 
Didn't  that  Italian  valet,  Malavello,  say  to  me,  when 
he,  with  four  other  wretches,  tried  to  beat  me  to  death 
in  Paris:  'This  is  with  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon's 
compliments! '  By  the  snakes  of  St.  Patrick!  look  out 
for  her  !  beware  of  her  !  She'll  be  your  death  if  she 
knows  you're  looking  for  her  !  She's  got  some  influence 
in  high  quarters  that  gives  her  a  hold  on  the  very  King 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  87 

of  France,  I  belave !  Musha,  once  or  twice  I've  thought 
she  might  be  Madame  de  Maintenon  herself!" 

"Madame  de  Maintenon!  that  old  hag!"  shrieks 
D'Arnac.  Then  he  bursts  into  a  fit  of  laughter, 
but  a  moment  after  goes  to  the  door  and  looks  out 
nervously  and  returning  says:  "Lanty,  never  speak 
of  the  power  behind  the  throne  —  even  walls  have 
ears." 

For  though  Louis  XIV.  had  but  a  few  more  months  to 
live,  the  power  of  his  mistress  was  so  great  in  France 
that  even  the  princesses  of  the  blood  cringed  to  her,  and 
doffed  their  hats  to  her,  and  the  ladies  of  the  court 
were  more  obsequious  to  her  than  if  she  had  been 
Queen  of  France. 

"  Now,"  says  D'Arnac,  his  eyes  still  lingering  on  the 
beautiful  picture,  "you  kept  this  for  a  rainy  day,  Mr. 
Lanty.  Your  master's  purse  is  not  over  well-filled  to 
support  the  position  of  a  colonel  in  the  Imperial  army. 
Permit  me  to  give  you,  for  the  Colonel's  use,  the 
hundred  louis  you  think  this  is  worth." 

"Not  when  it's  for  me  master's  business  you're 
takin'  it!  "  answers  Lanty. 

"And  it's  for  your  master's  good  that  I  give  you 
this! "  replies  D'Arnac,  who  has  hastily  written  an 
order  on  the  Commissary  General.  "Do  not  fail  to 
remember  one  thing — that  your  master  and  I  are 
comrades.  I  know  he  is  too  proud  to  even  hint  of 
money  to  me " 

"Wirra!  we've  been  nearly  beggars  since  we  came 
here,  and  divil  a  word  has  he  ever  said  to  anybody  ? " 

"But  remember  this,"  goes  on  Raymond,  "that  my 
purse  is  O'Brien  Dillon's  purse,  as  his  sword  is  my 
sword  and  my  sword  is  his.  Notify  me  if  your  master 
wants  funds  to  pay  his  debts,  or  friendship  to  help  him 
spend  his  money." 

"God  bless  you  for  that  first! "  cries  Lanty.  "Faix, 
I'm  very  glad  now  I  saved  ye  from  bein'  blown  up  that 
night!  " 

Then  he  gives  Raymond  a  leer  and  whispers:  "I 
hope  your  honor  will  have  better  luck  with  your  captive 
than  my  master  did  with  his." 

Here  their  conversation  is  interrupted  by  the  return  of 
O'Brien  Dillon. 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

A  few  moments  after  D'Arnac  and  he,  followed  by 
Lanty,  go  off  to  his  horses  that  are  already  saddled ;  for 
Prince  Eugene  is  about  leaving  Rastadt,  and  the  Irish 
Colonel  travels  in  his  suite. 

Just  before  Dillon  mounts,  these  two,  whose  sixty 
days  of  peace  has  cemented  a  friendship  caused  by  two 
nights  of  battle,  bid  each  other  adieu  as  men  who  love 
each  other. 

There  are  tears  in  O'Brien's  eyes  as  he  wrings 
Raymond's  hand,  and  mutters:  "You  remember  the 
word,  my  boy — together.  Wherever  you  hear  it, 
'TOGETHER' will  make  you  think  of  O'Brien  Dillon. 
Now,  good-bye,  my  dear  boy,  till  I  come  back  to  you 
a  general,  from  the  Turks,  with  Ottoman  plunder 
enough  to  support  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  like  a  lady 
of  the  land.  Don't  forget  you've  an  enemy  in  Paris 
who  wants  your  blood,  as  well  as  I  iiave.  But  get  all 
there  is  out  of  life,  even,  if  necessary,  a  gallant  death." 

And  so,  with  a  last  grip  of  friendship,  the  two  part, 
Dillon  riding  away  with  the  Prince  Eugene  to  fight  the 
unspeakable  Turk  on  the  banks  of  the  Danube,  and  the 
next  day  D'Arnac,  in  the  suite  of  his  chief,  the  Due  de 
Villars,  turning  back  to  the  pleasant  country  of  France, 
which  is  just  throwing  off  the  snows  of  Winter  and  put- 
ting on  its  Springtime  hues. 


BOOK  II. 
THE  SPECULATION  IN  BEAUTY. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

COUSIN    CHARLIE. 

So  IT  comes  to  pass,  about  a  week  after  this,  Raymond 
d'Arnac  follows  his  chief  along  the  Rue  de  Charenton 
to  the  barracks  of  the  the  Musquetaires  Noirs,  just 
outside  the  gates  of  Paris. 

Here  they  are  met  by  a  number  of  the  great  officers 
of  state  and  many  of  the  nobility,  and  congratulated 
with  great  show  of  enthusiasm  upon  the  success  of 
the  French  arms  in  the  last  campaign. 

Curiously  enough,  ihough  there  is  a  large  crowd  of 
voluble  Parisians  who  have  come  outside  the  walls  to 
see  the  return  of  France's  victorious  Mare"chal,  there  is 
but  little  enthusiasm  among  them.  Even  the  volatile 
French  find  it  hard  to  cheer  and  viva  when  their  purses 
are  very  empty,  and  in  some  cases  their  stomachs  also. 

In  the  enthusiasm  of  youth  and  the  joy  of  return 
covered  with  the  laurels  of  the  battlefield,  D'Arnac's 
mind  does  not  rest  upon  this. 

After  he  has  been  dismissed  by  his  chief,  with  a  hearty 
pat  on  the  shoulder,  and  "run  away  to  your  sweetheart, 
my  boy!  "  he  rides  into  the  town  of  Paris,  through  that 
great  arch  Louis  XIV.  has  just  erected  to  the  victories 
of  his  reign,  at  the  place  called  the  Port  St.  Antoine, 
and 'coming  through  the  crowded  commercial  part  of  the 


pO  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

city's  streets  (now  getting  too  harrow  for  its  business), 
he  crosses  the  river  by  the  bridge  Notre  Dame,  and  by 
the  time  fie  has  reached  the  Rue  St.  Andre  in  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Germain,  and  stands  in  front  of  the  Hotel  de 
Crevecoeur,  one  of  the  handsomest  residences  in  that 
quarter,  occupied  by  the  nobility  of  France,  he  has  for- 
gotten all  about  it. 

The  streets  have  seemed  as  "busy,  the  rush  of 
people  as  great,  as  he  had  ever  before  seen  m  the  capital 
of  France.  His  mind,  however,  is  occupied  not  with 
the  state  of  the  people,  but  with  the  state  of  his  family, 
for  a  courier  two  days  before  had  reached  him,  bearing 
the  news  of  his  uncle's  illness,  to  hasten  his  return  to 
Paris. 

The  bowing  flunkeys  have  scarcely  ushered  him  into 
the  main  salon  before  his  aunt,  Clothilde  the  Comtesse 
de  Crevecoeur,  has  her  arms  arounc  lisneck,  whispering: 
"  You  come  to  a  house  of  mourning!  " 

"  Dead! — my  uncle!  "  gasps  Raymond,  for  D'Arnac's 
father  had  passed  away  some  ten  years  before  this,  and 
had  left  his  little  son  Raymond  and  his  only  daughter 
Mimi  to  the  care  of  their  uncle,  and  Henri  de  Creve- 
cceur  had  been  very  kind  to  the  two  orphans. 

"  Of  course  not  dead!  "  says  his  aunt  sharply,  "but 
very  sick." 

As  the  Comte  de  Crevecoeur  has  been  very  sick, 
according  to  his  wife's  statement,  for  the  last  four  or 
five  years,  Raymond  recovers  from  the  shock  and  says 
rather  snappishly:  "Pish!  why  do  you  always  make  a 
tragedy,  my  dear  aunt?  I  suppose  the  dying  one  is  at 
breakfast!  " 

"Yes,  he's  eating  a  little.  " 

At  which  Raymond  bursts  into  a  laugh,  and  his  aunt 
says :  "I  am  ashamed  of  you — in  the  house  of  mourning, 
too!  " 

"  Diable !  he's  not  dead!  " 

"  But  he  is  always  threatening  to  die!  "  answers  his 
aunt.  "  However,  I  suppose  we  must  not  put  on  black 
until  he  is  no  more. "  Then  she  becomes  voluble  and 
babbles:  "Raymond,  how  handsome  you  look — and  a 
colonel — you  will  be  a  general  at  an  earlier  age  than  your 
poor  father  was!  And  how  becoming!  I  always  liked  uni- 
forms, even  before  I  left  the  convent."  With  this  a  pair 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  91 

of  plump  arms  go  around  Raymond  again,  in  an  embrace 
that  is  almost  maternal,  for  young  D'Arnac  has  a  taking 
way  with  all  women — even  those  of  his  own  family — and 
the  Comtesse  de  Crevecoeur's  heart  has  not  been  withered 
by  age.  She  is  scarcely  forty,  and  has  the  plump 
embonpoint  of  a  lady  who  has  lived  very  comfortably  and 
contentedly,  though  she  has  often  remarked  during  the 
last  few  years,  that  hers  is  a  house  of  mourning. 

"  I  think  I'll  go  in  and  see  him!  "  says  Raymond. 

"Yes,  he  has  been  inquiring  for  you.  Every  day — 
every  hour — he  has  asked  for  you.  Between  every  meal 
he  has  said :  '  Will  Raymond  come  in  time  ?  ' ' 

"  In  time  for  what — dinner  ?  "  cries  the  youth,  irrev- 
erently, and  laughing  lightly  steps  into  the  dining  room 
and  slaps  a  hearty  old  invalid  on  the  back. 

The  invalid  is  breakfasting  upon  two  chops,  an  omelet 
aux  fines  herbes,  a  pint  of  Rhine  wine,  and  some  sweet- 
meats. He  also  has  a  cup  of  the  coffee  of  Mocha  in  front 
of  him.  an  essence  introduced  some  forty  years  before 
this  by  Soleman  Aga,  the  distinguished  Minister  from 
the  Sublime  Porte  to  the  French  capital,  where  it  has 
now  become  the  rage,  little  restaurants  for  its  sale 
bearing  the  signs  of  cage's  being  common  in  most  of  the 
fashionable  streets. 

"  You  are  doing  very  well  for  a  dying  man  in  Lent," 
says  Raymond. 

"Ah!  Ha!  "grins  the  invalid,  "  I  always  grow  very 
sick  in  Lent.  Then  I  need  not  abstain  from  meat." 

"Neither  shall  I,  as  a  traveler,"  replies  Raymond, 
"and  with  your  permission  I  will  join  you — my  uncle." 

"Not  in  these  chops!"  cries  the  invalid.  "Order 
more  for  yourself,  and  tell  me  of  your  glory. " 

And  the  two  have  a  very  pleasant  meal,  towards  the 
close  of  which,  however,  Raymond  says,  after  recounting 
his  adventures  in  the  army:  "  A  courier  came  to  me  to 
hasten  my  return.  What  did  you  want  to  see  me 
about  ?  " 

"Oh,  nothing!  I  imagined,  perhaps,  you  \vouKI  not 
mind  returning  to  Paris  a  little  sooner.  Then  I  thought 
\vc  might  discuss  my  will.  De  Moncrirf  was  here  and 
drew  it  up  for  inc.  You  know  1  am  poor  now," 
mutters  the  Comte  de  Crevecceur. 

"Poor!  " 


92  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

"Yes,  my  investments  in  the  billets  d'etat  have 
turned  out  very  badly.  They  pay  no  interest.  The 
country  is  ruined — bankrupt!  " 

"  What  makes  you  think  that!  "  asks  Raymond. 

"  Have  you  had  your  pay  for  the  last  twelve  months  ?  " 

"No!"' 

"  When  are  you  going  to  get  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Neither  do  I  know  when  I'm  going  to  get  my 
interest.  That  is  what  makes  me  anxious  for  your 
future." 

"I  have  my  own  estates." 

"Yes,  but  they  are  too  small  ;  for  you  will  be  the  head 
of  the  house  when  I  die,  my  boy.  De  Moncrief,  you 
know,  as  cousin,  comes  after  you." 

"Oh,  don't  think  about  dying,"  laughs  Raymond, 
looking  at  his  uncle,  who  is  perhaps  sixty,  and  remarking 
sententiously :  ' '  You've  a  good  twenty — perhaps  thirty — 
years  before  you.  I  shall,  doubtless,  be  killed  in  some 
engagement  long  before  that.  In  fact,  twice — three 
times — yes,  four  times — in  the  last  campaign  I  was 
nearer  death  than  you  have  ever  been." 

"Diddle!"  shrieks  his  uncle.  ,  "Do  you  think  gun- 
powder as  dangerous  as  doctors  ?  " 

This  gunpowder  idea  sets  D'Arnac's  mind  on  the 
little  Jeanne.  After  a  few  minutes,  he  excuses  him- 
self to  the  Count  and  getting  converse  of  his  aunt,  he 
says:  "  Where  is  she  ?"  for  he  thinks  it  is  curious  that 
the  child  does  not  come  to  welcome  him. 

"Julie!  You  know  she  is  at  Melun." 

"No,  I  was  not  referring  to  her!  "  mutters  Raymond, 
biting  the  end  of  an  adolescent  moustache,  for  the  little 
Comtesse  de  Beaumont  is  a  child  of  twelve,  and  tnc  rich 
heiress  the  family  have  set  their  hearts  upon  his  marry- 
ing when  he  has  sown  his  wild  oats  and  she  has  left  her 
convent.  ' 

"Who?" 

"Little  Mademoiselle  Quinault. " 

"Oh,  that  brat!  " 

"Brat?" 

"Worse!  I  could  not  have  her  in  the  house.  She 
objected  to  eating  with  my  maid.  She — the  daughter 
of  a  strolling  player  woman !  " 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  93 

"  But  she  saved  my  life !  " 

"Well,  I  have  done  my  duty  by  her!  " 

"  In  what  way  ?  " 

"I  have  placed  her  at  the  convent  Les  Filles  de  la 
Croix  !  " 

"  Morblcu ! "  gasps  D'Arnac,  "that  is  a  school  for 
the  daughters  of  valets  and  cooks. " 

"Precisely!  You  would  not  have  had  me  send  her  to 
'  L  'Assumption  or  Saint  Cyr. " 

"  That  is  just  where  I  would  have  her!  " 

"What?  Doing  her  lessons  with  the  daughters  of 
marquises  and  dukes  and  counts  ?  WThy  she'd  have  a 
bowing  acquaintance  with  some  of  the  royal  family 
soon.  She's  brazen  enough  for  it!  "  remarks  Madame 
de  Crevecoeur.  "She  told  me  " —  here  the  lady's  voice 
almost  falters  with  emotion — "she  told  me  there  was 
the  aristocracy  of  art  as  well  as  the  aristocracy  of  birth. 
But  the  mother  superior  of  Les  Filles  de  la  Croix  has 
pertinent  instructions  about  her!  "  mutters  Clothilde 
significantly. 

"In  that  case,"  returns  Raymond,  "please  give  me 
an  order  on  the  convent  for  the  child."  Then,  seeing 
his  aunt  hesitate,  he  goes  on  commaiidingly:  "Just  sit 
down  and  write  it  at  once!  " 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  her  ?  " 

"I  am  about  to  put  her  in  a  school  where  she  need 
not  associate  with  the  daughters  of  valets  and  cooks!  " 

"Man  Dieu  !     Would  you  treat  her  as  a  count' 
shudders  Clothilde;  but  is   wary  enough  to    make   no 
direct  opposition  to  her  nephew's  wishes. 

Seizing  the  note  the  Countess  hands  him,  D'Arnac 
says:  "You  meant  for  the  best,  but  you  hardly  umlerstai  d 
little  Jeanne's  spirit."  Then  he  continues  in  tones  thai 
send  shudders  through  Clothilde's  plump  members, 
"  Le  Due  de  Villars  and  I  are  going  to  do  great  things 
for  this  little  lady.  The  Marechal  himself  has  promised 
to  help  me  with  her  dot." 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  You  are  not  going  to  marry  her  ?  Kav- 
mond,  remember  your  family — the  blood  <  !  the 
Turennes!"  screams  the  Countess  wildly. 

"  Not  to  myself!  "  laughs  the  young  man  so  heartily 
that  he  partly  relieves  Clothilde's  fears.  a<  IK  makes  his 
adieux. 


94  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

Coming  out  from  the  great  hotel  he  is  soon  at  the  Rue 
Dauphin. 

Here  he  encounters  a  voiture  driving  along  with  great 
cracking  of  whip,  for  the  jehus  of  old  Paris  were  just  as 
vociferous  as  those  of  to-day,  and  even  more  brutal  and 
savage  in  their  use  of  the  fouet  upon  their  unfortunate 
animals. 

The  vehicle  is  empty.  Springing  into  this  he 
commands:  "Hotel  de  Chateaubrien ! " 

"All  right!  I  know  it — Rue  St.  Honore,  Colonel!" 
returns  the  cvcAer  noticing  Raymond's  epaulettes  and 
uniform. 

"  Very  well !  Drive  as  if  the  archers  were  after  you !  " 
replies  D'Arnac,  and  with  much  cracking  of  whip,  the 
wretched  beast  flies  across  the  Pont  Neuf,  jostling  its 
crowd  of  hucksters,  and  shortly  after  turns  into  the  Rue 
St.  Honore,  where  Madame  de  Chateaubrien  occupies 
the  great  .hotel  of  that  name  in  the  new  Faubourg  that 
is  just  being  built  up  by  the  nobles  around  the  palace  of 
the  Tuileries. 

The  young  man  finds  his  sister  at  home.  "I  have 
been  expecting  you,  Raymond,"  she  cries,  "ever  since 
the  courier,  three  days  ago,  brought  news  of  the  sign- 
ing of  the  treaty  of  peace. " 

Then  she  pats  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  calls  him  her 
brother,  Monsieur  le  Colonel,  and  gives  him  some  kisses 
in  a  piquant  yet  sisterly  way,  her  bright  eyes  shining 
with  joy  over  the  return  of  her  brother. 

Mimi  de  Chateaubrien  is  one  of  the  most  dashing 
young  matrons  in  France.  Scarcely  over  twenty-one, 
she  has  made  a  very  great  match,  her  brother  assisting 
her  even  to  the  depletion  of  his  own  fortune  for  the  dot 
necessary  for  so  grand  an  alliance  as  she  has  made,  Le 
Marquis  de  Chateaubrien  being  one  of  the  very  great 
nobles  of  the  court. 

After  a  moment  Raymond  asks:   "  Your  husband  ?  " 

"Oh,  Raoul  is  at  present  in  Southern  France.  The 
winters  of  Paris  are  too  severe  for  him." 

"I  came  up  hurriedly  from  Beaupere  (mentioning 
her  beautiful  little  estate  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhone)  a 
few  weeks  ahead  of  my  husband.  Madame  d'Orleans 
honored  me  by  requesting  my  presence.  You  know," 
here  Mimi  glances  about  the  apartment  and  lowers  her 


A     PRINCESS    in      1'ARIS.  95 

voice,  "it  is  expected  after  the  demise  of  the  King,  the 
Duke  will  be  Regent,  and  the  Duchess  has  been  kind 
enough  to  suggest  to  me  I  may  be  one  of  her  ladies  of 
honor." 

"That's  no  news  in  the  army,"  answers  D'Arnac, 
"  even  now  they're  betting  at  the  Hague  that  his  Majesty 
will  not  live  out  the  month." 

"Hush,  not  so  loud!  "mutters  Mimi,  "Cousin  Charlie 
is  in  the  next  room!  " 

"  No,  Cousin  Charlie  is  in  this  one !  "  says  a  voice  so 
suddenly  that  it  makes  them  start,  as  rising  from  a  large 
fauteuil  upon  which  he  has  been  sitting,  the  back  of 
which  has  concealed  him,  Charles  de  Moncrief,  a  little 
grin  rippling  his  somewhat  senile  but  intellectual  coun- 
tenance, rises  and  continues:  "  Raymond,  mon  garfon, 
welcome  to  Paris!  " 

Then  he  laughs  again  "  Mimi,  don't  look  so  pale! 
Though  I  am  the  Procureur  du  Roy  I  shall  not  mention 
to  his  Majesty  that  the  world  knows  of  his  bad  health 
— entre  nous,  I  think  the  King  knows  it  also,  better  than 
anyone." 

With  this  he  gives  a  welcoming  hand  to  Raymond, 
and  pats  Mimi's  cheeks  till  they  blush,  for  he  is 
very  much  older  than  his  two  cousins,  having  full 
sixty  years  to  his  credit  on  the  book  of  time,  of  which 
Cousin  Charlie  would  like  to  wipe  out  about  thirty-five 
years. 

In  fact,  though  a  little  shaky  even  now,  De  Moncrief 
lives  the  life  of  a  young  man,  as  far  as  his  strength  and 
health  permits,  and  there  is  no  gayer  nor  wickeder  cour- 
tier at  Versailles,  and  no  greater  roysterer  at  the  Foire  de 
Saint  Germain  than  this  man,  who  had  been  once  an  abbe 
in  the  French  church,  appointed  under  De  Fleury,  but 
whose  methods  of  life  had  brought  such  scandal  on  his 
religion  that  it  had  been  suggested  to  him  by  the 
Cardinal  that  he  should  forego  all  hope  of  preferment  in 
the  Church,  and  take  to  that  of  the  law,  "  a  profession 
you  are  much  better  fitted  for,  my  dear  De  Moncrief," 
had  whispered  his  Holiness. 

"And  if  I  prefer  to  remain  in  the  Church  and  become 
a  cardinal  ?"  the  young  abbe  had  sneered. 

"In   that  case  your  diocese  will   be    the  Uastile!' 
Monsigneur  de  Fleury  had  replied,  with  a  grin,  which 


96  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

settled  Cousin  Charlie's  occupation  in  life,  and  he  is 
now  the  Procureur  du  Roy. 

Notwithstanding  his  rank,  which  gives  him  entre 
to  the  court  and  association  with  the  great  nobles,  he 
is  one  of  the  most  astute  lawyers  in  the  kingdom, 
believing  that  the  "end  always  justifies  the  means,"  a 
maxim  of  Cardinal  Richelieu  that  he  has  stored  carefully 
away  in  his  mind. 

For  he  revered  and  admired  the  memory  of  that  great 
statesman,  though  he  did  not  love  it,  for  Charles  de 
Moncrief  never  in  his  life  loved  anything  but  him- 
self, save  his  porte-monnaie ,  for  which  he  would  even 
sacrifice  his  own  personal  wishes  and  pleasures. 

But  over  all  that  cynicism  which  generally  comes  to  a 
man  of  his  temperament  in  later  years,  he  has  thrown 
the  bonhomie  of  youth,  its  vices  and  its  associations. 
He  is  more  apt  to  be  found  with  the  young  officers  of 
the  Garde,  or  the  young  nobles  of  Versailles,  than 
with  the  great  officers  of  state.  Consequently  he 
affects  the  society  of  young  women,  loving  them  as  well 
as  if  he  were  a  young  man,  and  expecting  them  to  love 
him  likewise. 

This  very  lightness  and  effervescence  of  character 
has  made  him  a  favorite  with  young  D'Arnac,  of  whom 
he  playfully  says:  "We  have  been  boys  together!" 
and  also  would  make  him  a  favorite  of  Mimi  de  Chateau- 
brien  did  she  not  somewhat  distrust  him,  for  one  or 
two  anecdotes  have  come  to  her  ears  through  ladies' 
lips. 

Altogether  she  thinks  Cousin  Charlie  very  nice,  if 
he  were  not  such  a  wicked  old  gentleman,  and  did  not 
wish  to  appear  such  a  young  one.  Besides,  the  same 
blood  flows  in  their  veins,  and  the  Crevecceurs, 
D'Arnacs,  De  Turrennes  and  De  Moncriefs  have  always 
hung  together  as  a  family,  backing  each  other  up, 
and  fighting  right  manfully  to  give  each  other  titles, 
place  and  wealth,  and  consequently  have  succeeded 
better  than  a  good  many  other  families  who  have 
fought  among  and  destroyed  themselves. 

"Now,  Raymond,  you  are  in  Paris  again,  we'll  have 
some  gay  evenings  together, "  continues  De  Moncrief. 
"  I  know  half  a  dozen  of  the  leading  actresses  of  Le 
Fran$ais  and  Des  Ita  iennes,  as  well  as  one  or  two  of 


A      1'KINVKSS     OF      PARIS.  97 

the  ladies  of  the  opera,  who  will  be   delighted   to  meet 
such  a  dashing  young  colonel." 

Whereon  Mimi  bites  her  lips,  but  a  moment  after  she 
smiles  and  says,  rather  too  pointedly  to  please  this 
y Duthful  old  gentleman:  "Brava!  Introduce  him, 
Cousin  Charlie.  The  ladies  of  the  opera  and  theatre  of 
your  day  must  have  forgotten  how  to  be  very  danger- 
ous! " 

At  this  Raymond,  stifling  a  laugh,  remarks:  "  Apropos 
of  ladies  of  the*  theatre,  I  have  a  very  young  one  under 
my  charge." 

" A  young  one!  Introduce  me,  my  boy!"  cries  De 
Moncrief,  enthusiastically.  * 

"I  will!"  says  Raymond,  and  astonishes  both  his 
sister  and  Cousin  Charlie  by  telling  them  the  story  of 
la  petite  Quinault  and  asking  Mimi  to  accompany  him  to 
Les  filles  de  la  Croix. 

"I'll  go  this  instant!  "  answers  Mimi.  "She  saved 
your  life!"  and,  summoning  a  lackey,  orders  her 
carriage. 

"The  sisters  will  prcbably  imagine  Madame  la 
Marquise  visits  them  to  obtain  a  new  maid-servant," 
sneers  De  Moncrief.  "  Supposing  you  and  I,  D'Arnac, 
go  together  and  rescue  the  little  beauty.  Then  we  will 
bring  her  here  and  see  what  we  will  do  with  her!  You 
say  Jeanne  is  pretty  and  fourteen.  Egad,  Raymond, 
my  boy,  I  feel  like  her  guardian  myself! "  laughs 
Cousin  Charlie. 

So  the  two  depart  upon  their'  errand,  arriving  at  the 
convent  in  the  Rue  Saint  Antoine  to  receive  a  surprise. 

The  mother  superior  reads  the  note  of  the  Countess 
de  Crevecoeur;  then  says,  devoutly  crossing  herself: 
"Thank  God  for  His  blessings!  You've  come  to  take 
her  away!  " 

"Certainly!  Please  bring  her  here,"  replies  D'Arnac, 
who  has  got  to  thinking  of  the  last  time  he  took  Jeanne 
from  a  convent,  the  night  before  Friburg. 

This  the  mother  superior  is  pleased  to  do  quickly, 
remarking,  "  Present  my  humble  salutations  to  Madame 
laComtesse,  your  aunt. " 

Little  Jeanne,  being  brought  down,  gives  a  cry  of 
joy,  and  astonishes  Raymond  by  shouting,  merrily: 
"  Hurrah!  the  curtain's  rising!  Act  Second  at  last!  ' 


98  .        A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

Then,  coming  to  him,  she  kisses  his  hand  and 
courtesies,  saying:  " Mon  Seigneur  has  come  to  take 
me  away  ? " 

"  Of  course,"  mutters  D'Arnac,  and,  presenting  her 
formally  to  Monsieur  de  Moncrief,  he  puts  her  in  the 
coach,  where  the  girl  says,  complacently:  "  Now  I  feel 
comfortable  once  more!  I  am  in  my  own  rank!  " 

"What  makes  you  so  pale,  Jeanne  ?  "  asks  Raymond, 
who  has  been  looking  at  the  child's  fac£  and  has  seen 
some  new  emotion  in  it. 

"Discipline,  and  bread  and  water!"  she  answers, 
savagely;  then  continues:  "  They  said  I  had  a  proud 
stomach.  I  would  not  sit  down  to  eat  with  offspring 
of  the  rabble  of  Paris — I  whom  Le  Due  de  Villars  called 
the  little  Princess." 

Then  warming  to  her  wrongs  during  the  ride  across 
Paris,  she  sends  the  Procureur  du  Roy  into  spasms  of 
laughter  by  describing  her  efforts  to  assert  her  dignity 
among  the  daughters  of  the  fishmongers,  butchers  and 
cooks  of  Paris. 

But  while,  he  laughs  at  the  little  girl,  Cousin  Charlie 
is  deeply  disappointed  in  her  beauty.  And  shortly 
after,  arriving  at  the  Hotel  de  Chateaubrien,  he  excuses 
himself  to  its  mistress  and  goes  down  the  steps  of  the 
grand  house,  bitterly  thinking  to  himself,  "If  she  had 
been  beautiful,  it  would  have  been  another  chance! 
He  has  escaped  Monsieur  Lenoir  and  German  bullets — 
when  will  I  get  another  opportunity  ? " 

De  Moncrief's  idea  as  to  Jeanne's  beauty  seems  to  be 
coincided  in  by  Mimi,  as  gaining  opportunity,  she 
whispers  to  her  brother:  "Why,  I  thought  you  said 
she  was  pretty!  " 

"  So  I  did!"  returns  Raymond;  then  looks  at  the 
child,  astonished,  for  somehow  Jeanne  seems  to  have 
grown  awkward  since  he  saw  her  two  months  ago,  being 
at  that  age  when  girls  do  not  know  what  to  do  with 
their  hands  and  feet.  This  is  emphasized  by  the 
short,  prim  and  coarse  uniform  of  a  poor  convent 
which  displays  uncompromisingly  every  angularity  of 
incipient  womanhood. 

However,  half  an  hour  afterwards,  little  Jeanne  is  a 
different  being.  She  has  thrown  off  convent  garb, 
and  is  once  more  dressed  in  the  fine  clothes  that  her 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  99 

guardian  had  furnished  her,  before  she  left  Rastadt. 
She  has  eaten  a  dainty  dinner,  and  her  eyes  are  spark- 
ling with  happiness  as  they  follow  Raymond,  her  little 
lips  whispering  to  herself:  "  Man  Seigneur!" 

"Yes,  she  is  rather  a  better  figure  now  to  present  to 
the  Chanoinesse,"  remarks  Mimi,  taking  in  the  picture 
before  her.  Then  she  asks  Raymond,  seriously: 
"  You  still  wish  to  place  her  at  L 'Assumption  !  " 

"  If  that  is  the  best  school  in  Paris,  yes." 

"  It  will  be  difficult,  but  we'll  try." 

A  step  along  the  Rue  St.  Honore",  and  they,  together 
with  little  Jeanne,  are  introduced  into  this  very  fash- 
ionable convent  and  received  by  the  head  of  this 
aristocratic  maison  des  filles,  the  Chanoinesse  de 
Chevreuse. 

This  lady,  a  daughter  of  one  of  the  proudest  families 
in  France,  of  course  has  heard  of  Madame  de  Chateau- 
brien.  On  little  Jeanne  being  presented  to  her  care, 
she  looks  astonished,  and  then  says  hesitatingly:  "She 
is  not  your — your  daughter,  Madame  la  Marquise? " 

" Mon  Dieu  /"  shudders  Mimi.      "Do  I  look  so  old?" 

But  this  speech  is  mistaken  by  the  little  Jeanne, 
whose  sojourn  at  "  Les  filles  de  la  Croix"  has  made  her 
both  sensitive  and  haughty.  She  interjects  savagely: 
"No,  I  am  not  Madame's  daughter!  My  mother  was 
an  actress.  I  was  born  in  Strassburg  in  1699.  My 
father  was  the  grandest  acrobat  of  his  age.  He  was 
the  only  man  who  could  turn  a  triple  somersault — and 
broke  his  neck  doing  it.  He  was  called  the  Chevalier 
of  the  Spring-board !  Now  there  are  no  more  like  him ! " 

This  pedigree  settles  the  affair.  The  Chanoinesse, 
struggling  to  keep  the  laughter  out  of  her  eyes, 
remarks:  "It  is  impossible  to  receive  any  one  but  the 
daughter  of  a  noble  here,  no  matter  if  you  are 
her  guardian,  Monsieur  d'Arnac,"  for  Raymond 
has  hurriedly  told  her  his  story;  "no  matter  if 
she  has  saved  your  life.  Our  rules  are  imperative. 
I  think,  as  you  seem  to  wish  to  do  very  well  by  the 
little  girl,  you  had  better  take  her  to  '  Des  Capacities,' 
Place  Louis  le  Grand." 

And  as  they  go  out,  Beatrice  de  Chevreuse  mutters  to 
herself:  "  He  is  a  good  youth,  a  handsome  youth.  To- 
night I'll  pray  for  his  good  guidance,  for  some  clay  this 


IOO  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

child  will  be  a  beautiful  woman.  He  has  the  same 
face  as  Claude,"  and  there  are  tears  in  this  white- 
haired  woman's  eyes,  for  she  is  thinking  of  a  youth  who 
had  left  her  side  to  march  under  Turenneto  the  Rhine, 
and  who  had  never  come  back  to  her. 

Taking  Madame  de  Chevreuse's  advice,  they  find  Des 
Capacities  a  very  comfortable  school,  where  the 
daughters  of  attorneys,  notaries,  silversmiths,  and  the 
better  class  of  bourgeois  send  their  daughters.  The 
mother  superior,  bowing  to  the  ground  to  Madame  la 
Marquise,  tells  her  that  she  is  a  protege  of  the  Chateau- 
briens,  that  they  had  furnished  her  convent  dower.  Here 
they  leave  her,  D'Arnac  especially  stipulating  there  is 
to  be  no  discipline  and  bread  and  water  for  Jeanne,  no 
matter  how  naughty  she  is. 

' '*  I  think  it  is  the  best  thing  you  could  have  done  for 
her,"  remarks  Mimi,  as  they  leave  the  convent. 

The  immediate  care  of  little  Jeanne  being  off  his 
hands,  Raymond  suddenly  turns  his  mind  to  the  mission 
of  O'Brien  Dillon. 

His  sister  being  a  very  competent  authority  on  the 
beauties  of  Paris,  he  goes  to  questioning  her  upon  the 
latest  sensations  in  the  line  of  professional  beauties  at 
the  French  court.  Finally  growing  enthusiastic,  he 
describes  the  miniature  so  vividly  that  Mimi  returns 
laughingly:  "There  is  no  one  like  the  beauty  you  speak 
of  in  this  world !  " 

"Then,  "she  jeers,  "  Raymond,  you  are  in  love !  You 
have  seen  this  wonder,  this  paragon,  these  eyes  of 
'pathetic  violet,'  this  hair  of  gilded  Titian  red!  " 

"No,"  says  D'Arnac,  chewing  his  moustache,  for 
most  young  men  do  not  care  to  be  laughed  at,  "I 
have  never  seen  her,  but  I  have  seen  her  picture." 

"Her  picture?     Tell  me!" 

And  this  compels  him  to  disclose  the  story  of  O'Brien 
Dillon. 

' '  Very  well, "  replies  Mimi,  ' '  bring  me  the  miniature. 
Then  I  can  tell  you  if  I  have  ever  seen  her.  I  will  look 
at  it  through  my  own  eyes,  not  through  yours." 

"I  will!"  answers  D'Arnac,  and  being  full  of  his 
subject,  he  goes  hurriedly  to  the  Hotel  de  Crevecoeur, 
and  shortly  returns,  bearing  in  his  hand  the  tin  case 
which  contains  the  miniature  he  has  been  describing. 


A     PRINCKSS     01       I'AKIS.  IOI 

Then,  opening  it,  he  places  it  in  front  of  his  sister, 
and  says:  "  Tel)  me,  did  I  rave  about  this?" 

"No,"  ejaculates  Mimi.  "She  is  more  beautiful 
than  even  you  said.  But  it  is  not  a  real  picture.  No 
woman  was  ever  as  lovely  as  this.  It  is  an  ideal !  "  then 
laughs.  "You  will  have  to  go  to  Heaven  to  find  the 
prototype  of  this,  for  it  is  not  in  Paris.  Madame  de 
Parabere,  the  prettiest  woman  of  the  court — the  last  lady 
whom  Monsieur  le  Due  d'Orleans  has  honored  with  his 
far-reaching  attentions,  is  ugly  compared  to  it. " 

An  instant  after  she  sayh:  "Have  you  investigated 
the  whole  of  this  miniature?  " 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  what  there  is  behind  the  picture,  perhaps. 
This  box  is  too  large  to  be  occupied  entirely  with  this 
little  ivory."  And  her  facile  fingers  search  hurriedly 
for  some  concealed  spring  in  the  case. 

An  instant  after  they  find  and  press  it,  the  miniature 
flies  up — there  is  an  open  space  behind. 

"  Pish !  It  is  empty !  "  ejaculates  D'Arnac,  disappoint- 
ment in  his  tone. 

"  Save  this  little  piece  of  paper,"  returns  Mimi, 
"  which  may  give  you  a  better  clue  than  diamonds,"  as 
she  reads  hastily  from  it, 

Address  Monsieur  Poisson, 

Rue  Dauphin, 
Paris. 

"Poisson!  I've  heard  that  name  before,"  mutters 
Raymond.  A  pause  of  thought  and  he  ejaculates,  ' '  The 
address  of  the  letter  to  her  uncle.  The  one  Dillon 
spoke  of  in  his  story.  Mimi,  have  you  ever  heard  of 
such  a  man  ?  " 

"  Yes;  in  the  playbills  of  Le  Francais, "  answers  his 
sister.  "He's  the  man  who  does  the  old  pompous 
comedy  roles.  He  makes  every  one  shriek  with  laugh- 
ter as  'Crispin.' ' 

"'Crispin!'  I  know  the  fellow!  I  fell  out  of  my 
chair  laughing  at  him  six  months  ago,  before  I  joined 
my  regiment,"  replies  D'Arnac. 

"  But  he  may  not  be  the  one.  There  may  be  a  hun- 
dred Poissons  in  Paris."  suggests  Mimi. 

"I'll  discover  where  he  lives.  If  it's  Rue  Dauphin 
that  will  probably  settle  it," 


102  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

u  Well,  if  you  want  to  learn  about  actors,  I  know 
some  one  who  can  give  you  the  history  of  every  one  of 
them,  and  actresses  also." 

"  Who  ?  "  asks  Raymond,  eagerly, 

"Cousin  Charlie,"  answers  Madame  la  Marquise, 
with  a  mocking  laugh. 

"Then,  to-night  at  dinner  I'll  nail  Cousin  Charlie," 
cries  D'Arnac,  enthusiasm  in  his  voice  and  confidence 
in  his  manner,  "for  he  doesn't  know  he  is  beginning  a 
task  to  which  the  siege  of  Friburg  and  the  assault  on 
the  German  infantry  of  stout  De  Arsch  were  almost  as 
the  play  of  infants." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

POISSON    THE  LIAR. 

RAYMOND  strolls  to  dinner  that  evening  in  a  very  easy 
frame  of  mind.  The  brilliant  sights  of  the  city  are 
pleasing  to  him  after  his  campaign.  He  looks  at  the 
principal  thoroughfares,  lighted  with  oil  lamps,  and 
thinking  "  What  a  grand  civilization!"  jostles  his  way 
quite  cheerily  along  the  Rue  Dauphin  with  its  crowds  of 
beseeching  mendicants,  for  in  the  year  1714  there  are 
plenty  of  starving  people,  both  in  the  great  City  of  Paris 
and  the  Provinces  of  France,  some  of  which  had  been 
devastated  by  war,  and  all  of  them  devoured  by  the 
Farmiers  Generals  who  collected  taxes  from  them. 

Soon  the  quick  steps  of  youth  bring  him  into  the  Rue 
de  Fosses  Saint  Germain,  and  a  few  minutes  after  he  has 
passed  through  the  Rues  de  Conde  and  Des  Maries  and  is 
at  Pascal's  Armenian  Cafe  in  the  Foire  de  Saint  Germain. 
Here,  mid  the  light  of  flickering  candles,  he  finds  a 
section  of  gay  Paris.  Cousin  Charlie  is  seated  at  a  little 
table  where  preparations  for  a  feast  for  the  gods  are 
going  on  rapidly,  for  Monsieur  le  Procureur,  loving 
himself,  loves  his  stomach. 

De  Soubise  of  the  Garde  and  De  Rohan  of  the 
Musquetaires  Noirs,  two  dashing  young  officers,  are  with 
him.  Abbes,  generals,  nobles,  and  a  smattering  of 
hangers-on  of  the  court,  make  the  rest  of  the  company 
at  the  surrounding  tables. 


A     PRINCESS     ill      I'AKIS.  103 

"I  have  the  pleasure  of  knowing  Monsieur  d'. \rn;u  '> 
sister!"  remarks  Soubise  on  introduction. 

"And  I  have  the  honor  of  greeting  the  hero  of 
Friburg!"  adds  I  )e  Rohan,  who  lias  seen  service  in 
Flanders  and  on  the  Rhine.  "  How  is  our  old  Chief  ?  " 

' '  The  Due  de  Villars  was  very  well  this  morning  when 
I  left  him,"  replies  Raymond,  as  they  sit  down  to 
dinner. 

A  moment  after  they  are  taking  their  soup.  Soubise 
remarks:  "  We  heard  as  much  in  Paris  about  D'Arnac's 
lucky  escapes  at  Friburg  as  you  did  on  the  Rhine,  De 
Rohan.  De  Moncrief  told  the  whole  town  the  details 
of  his  cousin's  taking  two  bastions." 

"Yes,  I  had  a  few  letters  from  the  front,  speaking  in 
very  high  terms  of  your  conduct,  my  boy — so  I  made 
them  public ; — they  won't  hurt  you  with  the  young  ladies 
of  honor  at  Versailles!  "  laughs  Cousin  Charlie. 

"  Letters  from  whom  ?"  asks  Raymond,  carelessly. 

"  From  the  man  who  knew  the  most  about  your  gal- 
lantry— the  Chief  of  Staff  of  your  Division — Monsieur 
Lenoir!  " 

As  the  name  leaves  the  lips  of  De  Moncrief,  his  eyes 
turn  on  Raymond,  and  he  notes  that  a  drop  of  soup  falls 
from  the  boy's  uplifted  spoon. 

"Yes,  no  one  should  know  it  better  than  he!" 
returns  D'Arnac.  Then  breaking  into  a  forced  laugh, 
he  says:  "  Pardieu  !  I  sometimes  thought  Lenoir, by  the 
places  he  put  me  in,  meant  I  should  not  live  through 
the  campaign." 

"Perhaps  that  was  owing  to  me,  my  dear  boy!" 
utters  De  Moncrief  proudly. 

"  You!  "gasps  Raymond, astonished  at  the  confession. 

"Yes,  as  I  know  Lenoir  quite  well!  said  to  him  as 
Chief  of  Staff:  '  Please  give  my  cousin  a  chance  to  win 
his  spurs — I  want  him  to  be  a  general  before  his  father 
was.'  Parbleu  !  I'm  glad  Lenoir  did  not  forget  it.  Instead 
of  colonel  you  would  now  be  a  captain." 

"Yes,  I've  done  very  well,"  returns  Raymond,  look- 
ing at  his  epaulettes  and  forgetting  in  the  pride  of  mili- 
tary glory  Dillon's  remarks  about  the  young  officers  who 
did  not  come  back. 

Shortly  after  the  conversation  changes  to  the  dom.^ 
of  Paris  and  Versailles,  De  Soubise  expatiating  on  tin- 


104  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

beauty  of  Madame  de  Parabere,  the  last  favorite  of  the 
Due  d'Orleans,  and  De  Rohan  remarking  upon  the 
reigning  star  at  the  opera — the  dancer,  la  belle  Francoise 
Prevost.  This  brings  them  easily  enough  to  the  Theatre 
Francais. 

"By-the-bye,  would  you  like  me  to  show  you  some  of 
the  heroes  of  the  boards  ?."  remarks  De  Moncrief,  who 
is  rather  proud  of  his  knowledge  of  the  stage,  an 
unknown  land  always  interesting  to  the  uninitiated. 

" Morbleu !  I  prefer  the  heroines  of  the  stage," 
laughs  De  Soubise. 

"I  expect  we  can  find  some  of  the  heroes  at  Pro- 
cope's!  "  suggests  Cousin  Charlie.  "Shall  we  step  over 
there  ?" 

"Agreed!"  cries  Raymond,  thinking  of  Poisson. 
"Instanter!  "  rejoins  De  Soubise,  for  the  dinner  is  fin- 
ished and  he  is  anxious  by  means  of  the  heroes  of  the 
stage  to  get  introduction  to  one  of  its  heroines,  the 
beautiful  Mademoiselle  Seine,  who  is  at  this  time  mak- 
ing the  hearts  of  Parisian  gallants  beat  very  fast,  as  they 
gaze  on  her  charms  across  the  candles  of  the  Theatre 
Francais. 

De  Rohan,  however,  excuses  himself,  remarking  that 
he  has  an  appointment-this  evening. 

"Ah,"  chuckles  De  Moncrief,  "  we  are  about  to  worship 
Thalia,  while  you  seek  Venus,  I  presume,  my  young 
gallant!  " 

"No,  only  a  lady  of  the  opera!  "  laughs  De  Rohan, 
and  departs  upon  his  way,  as  the  three  others  stroll 
toward  the  Rue  de  Fosses  Saint  Germain  and  Cafe 
Procope". 

As  they  step  along  Monsieur  Le  Procureur  oracularly 
remarks:  "I  hope  to  introduce  to  you  my  old  friend, 
Michael  Baron !  You  boys  never  saw  such  an  actor. 
He  has  left  the  stage  now  these  twenty  years,  but  I 
remember  him  in  the  days  of  Moliere.  We  will  probably 
find  him  and  two  or  three  others  of  his  cronies  playing 
dominoes  this  evening." 

"Will  we  see  the  man  who  makes  all  Paris  laugh 
with  his  'Crispin  ? '  "  queries  D'Arnac,  leading  up  to  his 
subject. 

"  What ?  old  Paul  Poisson,  the  idol  of  the  pit.  You'll 
find  him  wherever  there  are  cards  and  dice." 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  105 

"Ah!  great  at  cards  and  dicing!  " 

"Yes.  And  a  hint  to  you,  you  can  gamble  with  him 
now.  Since  Lass,  the  great  pharo  player,  was  here  my 
friend  Poisson's  purse  has  been  full  enough  to  pay  his 
losses." 

This  information  causes  Raymond  to  think  he  is 
warm  on  the  scent.  His  friend  Dillon's  "Uncle 
Johnny"  is  a  great  gambler,  and  arriving  at  the  Cafe 
Procop£  he  is  delighted  to  find  the  elder  Poisson  is  one 
of  the  company. 

This  place,  one  of  the  most  popular  in  Paris,  stands 
immediately  opposite  the  Comedie  Franf aise,  that  had  been 
turned  out  of  its  more  commodious  theatre  in  the  Palais 
Royal  by  Cardinal  Mazarin  to  first  accommodate  the 
Italian  comedians  whose  patron  he  was,  and  afterwards 
to  make  room  for  the  Royal  Academy  of  Music,  now 
called  the  "  Opera." 

For  Richelieu  had  founded  the  Comedie  Franfaise, 
and  Mazarin  had  brought  the  Italians  to  Paris,  and  he 
gave  the  French  actors  a  kick  with  his  ecclesiastical 
foot  whenever  he  could  bring  it  to  bear  on  Monsieur 
Moliere  and  his  companions  of  the  footlights. 

But  Mazarin  having  passed  away,  and  the  King  having 
exported  the  Italian  troupe  for  playing  "The  False 
Prude,"  a  comedy  that  Madame  de  Maintenon  maintained, 
quite  wisely  reflected  upon  her,  the  Comedie  Franfaise 
had  become  again  the  fashion,  and  still  sustained  its 
prestige,  though  another  troupe  of  Italians,  lured  by 
Gaelic  gold,  had  by  this  time  come  to  Paris  to  play 
against  it. 

The  popularity  of  the  Theatre  Francais  made  the 
popularity  of  the  Cafe  Procope,  which,  being  opposite  to 
it,  was  convenient  both  for  its  actors  and  its  audiences. 

To  the  glow  of  tallow  dips,  Francois,  its  proprietor, 
had  added  the  dazzle  of  oil  lamps,  and  the  place  was 
considered  the  most  brilliantly  illuminated  of  its  day. 
Its  sawdust  the  cleanest,  its  wines  of  the  finest  vintages, 
its  coffee  the  most  genuine  of  Mochas — chicory  was  yet 
to  come. 

It  is  by  no  means  crowded  as  Cousin  Charlie  and  his 
party  enter  ;  but  in  a  retired  corner  several  guests  are 
gathered  together,,  some  sitting  at  a  table,  the  others 
lounging  near  them. 


106  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"  Par  bleu!  we're  in  luck,"  whispers  De  Moncrief. 
"  There's  Baron,  and  beside  him  is  the  man  you  asked 
about,  Raymond,  old  Paul  Poisson  himself." 

"Which  is  Baron  ?" 

"Baron  is  the  tall,  well-built  fellow,  sixty  years  of 
age  if  he  is  a  minute,  but  doesn't  believe  he  is  any,older 
than  I  am." 

This  produces  a  snicker  from  De  Soubise,  who  is 
following  immediately  after  them,  as  the  actor  designated 
has  the  appearance  of  a  Hercules  and  the  apparent 
activity  of  a  Mercury,  compared  to  the  somewhat 
emaciated  five  feet  two  and  rather  trembling  move- 
ments of  Cousin  Charlie. 

As  they  approach  the  group  at  the  table,  Michel 
Baron  rises  and  says  heartily  and  easily:  "Welcome, 
Monsieur  de  Moncrief!"  then  cries:  "Quasimodo, 
quick !  Chairs  for  the  gentlemen  of  the  court  and  the 
gentlemen  of  the  army!  " 

While  these  are  being  brought  by  a  hump-backed 
garfon,  who  has  the  enormous  shoulders  of  an  acrobat 
and  the  light  flying  legs  of  a  rope  dancer,  a  wonderful 
leer  in  his  sharp  twinkling  eyes,  and  an  agile  flourish  in 
his  strong,  powerful  arms,  introductions  have  been 
going  on,  and  Raymond  finds  himself  acquainted 
suddenly  with  some  of  the  great  lights  of  literature  and 
the  stage. 

Old  Prosper  Crebillon,  whose  romances  and  plays 
have  given  Paris  many  nights  of  naughty  enjoyment, 
says  he  is  pleased  to  meet  the  hero  of  Friburg. 

Little  Jacques  Campistron,  who  has  just  been  button- 
holing Baron  for  his  influence  to  get  a  hearing  for  a 
play  of  his  at  the  Franpais,  is  delighted  to  return  the 
bow  of  De  Soubise  and  D'Arnac,  thinking  a  stroll  in 
the  Gardens  of  the  Tuileries  with  these  two  dashing 
officers  will  add  to  his  literary  reputation. 

A  second  after  Baron,  who  has  just  been  introduced 
to  Raymond,  begs  to  have  the  honor  of  presenting 
his  friend,  Paul  Poisson,  of  the  Francais,  to  the  gentle- 
man who  has  been  so  much  talked  about  in  Paris  during 
the  lust  campaign. 

"  Pardi !  you'll  make  him  think  he's  De  Villars 
himself,  in  a  minute!"  laughs  Cousin  Charlie,  as  they 
all  sit  down,  for  Quasimodo  has  piled  seven  chairs  on 


A     PRINCESS     OK     PARIS.  IO7 

each  other,   and   brought  them  with  one  quick  skip   to 
the  group. 

"Isn't  he  a  miracle5"  chuckles  Baron,  delighted. 
That  imp  of  Hercules  can  carry  ten  chairs  in  each  hand, 
and  a  table  in  his  mouth. 

"We've  christened  him  Quasimodo,  Junior,  after 
the  old  bell-ringer  of  Notre  Dame,"  remarks  Poisson. 
"  Sapristi  !  when  I  look  at  him,  I  shudder  to  think 
what  a  success  he  would  have  made  in  comedy  roles!  " 

Then  the  conversation  drifts  towards  the  stage,  for 
the  actors  of  that  day  were  even  more  cut  off  from  the 
general  run  of  men  than  those  of  the  present  time; 
though  they  associated  with  the  gentlemen  of  the 
court,  the  court  looked  upon  them  as  its  servants, 
and  the  Church  anathematized  them  as  the  servants  of 
the  devil.  They  get  to  speaking  of  the  rival  company. 

"Those  Italians,"  remarks  Baron,  oracularly, 
"disgust  God!  " 

"While  we  only  disgust  Saints!  "  laughs  Poisson  so 
infectiously  that  all  the  company  burst  into  a  shriek  at 
his  humorous  countenance. 

"Yes,  your  jokes  go  because  you  laugh  at  them 
yourself,  Poisson!"  returns  Baron.  " Diable I  who 
can  help  laughing  at  your  grimaces  ?  " 

"Do  you  mean  to  insinuate,"  says  Poisson,  indig- 
nantly, "that  my  grimaces  are  the  only  funny  things 
about  me  ? " 

At  which  there  is  another  shriek  of  laughter,  because 
Poisson's  rage  is  funnier  than  his  humor,  just  here 
Quasimodo  makes  his  appearance  with  several  flasks 
of  Italian  wine,  ordered  by  De  Moncrief,  and  the  open- 
ing of  the  bottles  closes  the  actors'  mouths. 

"Ma  foil"  remarks  Cousin  Charlie,  "you  think 
Italian  wine  better  than  Italian  comedy." 

" Pardieu  !  I  can  stomach  their  wine  though  I  can't 
their  Venice  farces  !  "  says  Baron,  putting  his  glass 
down  with  a  smack. 

Then  Moncrief  and  Soubise  getting  into  some  discus- 
sion on  Italian  vintages,  and  a  crowd  of  people  coming 
in  from  across  the  street,  for  it  is  now  an  entracte  in  the 
performance  going  on  at  the  theatre,  Raymond  dra\v> 
his  chair  alongside  of  Paul  Philippe  Poisson,  an<: 
ually  leads  the  conversation  from  the  sta-e  to  the 


108  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

gambling  table,  which  will  put  him  in  position  to  ask 
questions  about  John  Lauriston,  and  his  niece,  Madame 
O'Brien  Dillon. 

While  doing  this  he  incidentally  receives  some  other 
curious  information,  as  he  begins  his  conversation  rather 
deftly  for  a  blunt  young  soldier  in  complimenting 
Poisson  on  his  performance  of  "Crispin." 

"  Parbleu .'  I  am  pleased  to  have  obtained  Le 
Comte  d'Arnac's  approbation  in  the  role ! "  remarks 
Paul,  solemnly;  then  says  with  a  sigh:  "It  may  be 
my  last  great  success,  as  I  do  not  appear  very  regularly 
now." 

"Man  Dieu !  that  is  unkind  to  Parts!"  returns 
Raymond,  who  has  shrewdly  discerned  that  old  Poisson 
is  a  mass  of  vanity,  like  many  other  ac  tors. 

"Then  Paris  must  suffer.  At  present  I  am  instruct- 
ing some  of  the  younger  members  of  my  family  in  the 
arts  of  the  stage,  one  of  whom,  Arnoul,  they  say  will 
excel  his  father,  because,  hang  their  impudence,  they 
say  he  is  uglier  !  "  answers  the  comedian  with  a  chuckle 
so  hideous  that  it  would  send  Raymond  into  a  spasm, 
did  not  at  this  moment  the  old  actor  add:  "You 
must  visit  me  at  my  school  Rue  Dauphin,  No.  17." 

Rue  Dauphin  is  the  address  that  O'Brien  Dillon 
mentioned.  Raymond  is  on  the  qui  vive  at  once. 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy,"  he  replies.  Then  a  gleam  of 
cunning  flying  to  his  mind,  he  suggests :  "  I  presume  you 
have  some  beautiful  pupils,  as  well  as  intelligent  ones." 

"You  mean  girls?"  cries  Paul.  "No  girls!  I 
would  not  be  bothered  with  the  minxes.  Let  Duclos 
take  care  of  them." 

Then  a  new  idea  suddenly  coming  into  his  vivacious 
brain,  he  continues :  ' '  There  is  only  one  woman  to  whom 
I  would  like  to  teach  my  art,  and  she  is  beyond  me !  She 
has  such  beaut/  de  diable  ! — such  grasp  of  emotion — such 
intelligence  and  finesse — such  a  concentrated  infernal 
topsy  turvy  erratic  nature,  that  she  would  make  the 
greatest  actress  in  France !  Duclos  would  be  a  comedienne 
to  her  in  tragedy,  and  poor  Desmares  would  be  a  trag- 
edienne to  her  in  comedy  if  I  could  get  her  on  the  stage 
— but  that  is  impossible !  At  present  she  is  a  relegieuse! 
She  walks  the  boards  of  a  convent.  They  mean  her  for 
greater  things." 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  109 

"Greater  things  !  what  can  be  grander  than  the  tri- 
umphs of  the  stage  ?  " 

"The  triumphs  of  the  court!  She  is  destined  for 
great  things,  when  certain  little  things  happen!"  an- 
swers Poisson,  whose  tongue  is  beginning  to  babble 
under  the  influence  of  the  wine  of  Italy. 

By  this  time  the  two  are  quite  alone,  as  most  of  the 
patrons  of  the  cafe  have  gone  back  to  the  theatre,  in 
their  company  Baron,  Cousin  Charlie  and  De  Suboise, 
who  want  to  have  a  glance  at  beautiful  Mademoiselle 
Seine,  especially  Suboise,  whom  Baron  has  promised  to 
present  to  her. 

"Let's  have  another  flask  of  Chianti!"  suggests 
Raymond. 

And  Quasimodo  bringing  it,  the  two  continue  their 
conversation,  D'Arnac  leading  up  to  his  subject  by 
giving  a  little  account  of  the  desperate  dicing  and  card 
playing  that  took  place  in  Rastadt  between  the  officers 
of  the  French  and  the  German  armies. 

"  Twenty  thousand  livres  on  a  card  !  Did  Monsieur  de 
Sartimes  think  that  a  big  bet  ?  "  jeers  the  comedian. 

"  It  is  among  gentlemen  of  the  sword,  but  perhaps  it 
is  not  among  fermiers  gcneraux  !  "  returns  Raymond. 

"Fermiers generaux  a  la  diable /"  cries  Poisson.  "I 
have  seen  my  friend  Jean  Lass  risk  one  hundred  thousand 
on  the  turn  of  a  card,  or  the  throw  of  a  die,  and  think 
no  more  of  it  than  you  do  of  spiting  a  German! " 

"There  is  another  friend  of  yours,  I  believe,  who  is 
a  great  gambler — a  John  Lauriston,"  queries  Raymond, 
trying  to  hit  the  nail  on  the  head. 

"John  Lauriston!  "  says  the  old  comedian.  "John 
Lauriston !  "  Then  his  eyes  suddenly  have  a  perturbed, 
perhaps  frightened  look,  and  he  mutters:  "  I  do  not 
think  I  have  heard  the  name,  though  my  memory  is 
sometimes  treacherous." 

"  He  had  his  letters  addressed  to  you  in  Paris,  a  year 
ago !  You  remember  him— tall— well-formed— gray  eyes ! " 

"  Had  his  letters  in  my  care  ? " 

"  Yes,  Rue  Dauphin  !  " 

"  I — I  have  a  great  many  pupils  at  my  school.  He 
may  have  been  the  father  of — of  one  of  them !  "  stammers 
the  old  gentleman.  "  I— I  will  look  over  my  books. 
Perhaps  the  name  is  on  them." 


110  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"Very  well!  I  will  call  on  you  to-morrow!"  says 
D'Arnac,  who  is  determined  to  see  No.  17  Rue  Dauphin, 
and  find  out  what  he  can  discover  with  his  own  eyes, 
for  somehow  the  sudden  change  in  the  bearing  of  the 
gentleman  he  is  addressing  produces  a  suspicion  that 
Monsieur  Poisson's  memory  is  not  as  bad  as  he  would 
have  Raymond  believe  it. 

A  moment  after  the  comedian  rises.  Apparently 
anxious,  for  some  reason,  to  end  the  conversation,  he 
says:  "You  will  excuse  me  now,  Monsieur  le  Comte! 
I  have  to  go  on  the  stage.  One  of  my  sons  appears  this 
evening,  and  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  speak  to  him! " 

"What!  Arnoul,  the  ugly  one  ?  "  laughs  Raymond. 

"  No,  I  shall  not  let  him  appear  until  I  have  taken 
my  leave  of  the  stage.  I  still  wish  to  be  considered  the 
ugliest  actor  in  France!  "  chuckles  Poisson. 

"  Very  well,"  replies  D'Arnac,  "  to-morrow  morning 
— Rue  Dauphin !  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  wish  it;  though  perhaps  you  had  better 
call  a — a  few  days  later.  It  may  take  me  some  time  to 
look  over  my  books." 

"  I  will  take  my  chances  of  that,  and  I  hope  to  have 
the  pleasure  of  calling  on  you  often,"  returns  Raymond, 
diplomatically,  as  the  old  gentleman,  with  a  profound 
bow  and  somewhat  disturbed  countenance,  takes  his 
leave. 

The  next  morning  one  o'clock  in  the  day  finds 
D'Arnac  at  the  house  of  the  comedian,  who  laughingly 
remarks:  "You  come  too  late  to  see  my  pupils.  They 
have  finished  and  gone  away." 

"Then  I  hope  you  have  had  time  to  examine  your 
books,  and  see  if  you  have  discovered  the  name  of  John 
Lauriston.  He  did  not  have  a  niece  he  wished  to  put  on 
the  stage  ?  "  suggests  Raymond,  making  a  wild  shot. 

It  is  a  shot  which  apparently  tells  in  some  hidden  way, 
for  Paul  Poisson's  eyes  roll  about  in  a  wild  and  disturbed 
manner  as  he  receives  it. 

A  second  after  his  mobile  features  become  calm,  as 
he  says:  "Yes,  I  have  discovered  the  name,  and  I 
believe  the  gentleman  did  have  a  niece.  He  spoke  to 
me  about  her.  That  is  the  way  I  knew  him.  He  had 
a  desire  to  put  his  niece  upon  the  stage,  but  it  came  to 
nothing." 


\      PRINCESS     OK     PARIS.  Ill 

"Why  ?" 

"Well,  as  I  recall  the  facts  now,  Lauriston  received 
an.  order  from  Monsieur  d'Argenson " 

"What,  the  Lieutenant  of  Police  ?" 

"Yes — to  leave  France." 

"You  astound  me  !     Why  ?  " 

"  Because,  I  have  been  informed,  Monsieur  Lauriston 
was  too  great  a  gambler  !  " 

"As  great  a  one  as  Monsieur  Lass  ?  " 

"About  the  same,''  returns  Poisson,  struggling  to 
fight  down  a  hideous  grin. 

"So  he  is  not  in  Paris  ?  " 

"No;  I  believe  he  went  to  Venice  or  Bologna — 
somewhere  in  Italy." 

"  And  took  his  niece  with  him  ?  " 

"  I  imagine  so.  I  do  not  think  she  would  have  made 
a  success  on  the  stage.  She  was  a  poor,  skinny,  washed- 
out  kind  of  a  girl  !  "  adds  Poisson  easily  and  affably. 

Either  this  description  or  O'Brien  Dillon's  miniature 
is  a  lie,  but  Raymond,  turning  the  matter  suddenly  in 
his  brain,  thinks  it  is  best  to  say  no  more.  At  all 
events,  if  Dillon's  "  Uncle  Johnny  '  has  been  ordered 
out  of  France,  that  would  indicate  no  great  political 
influence,  and  no  high  rank  in  life. 

So  departing  on  his  way,  he  hunts  up  several  of  his 
old  friends  in  Paris,  and  making  cautious  inquiries, 
discovers  that  no  one  has  ever  seen  John  Lauriston 
in  Paris.  That  no  gentleman  of  that  name  has  ever 
been  heard  of  at  the  great  gambling  salon  in  the  Foire  de 
Saint  Germain.  Consequently  this  must  be  another 
fib  de  theatre  of  Monsieur  Poisson. 

Filled  with  this  information,  Raymond  turns  to  the 
Rue  St.  Honor^  to  seek  counsel  with  his  sister,  and 
telling  his  story,  interests  her  to  such  an  extent  that  she 
says:  "There  is  something  that  we  cannot  under- 
stand here!" 

"Would  you  like  to  help  me  solve  the  enigma  ? " 

"With  alia  woman's  inquisitive  soul!"  cries  Madame 
la  Marquise. 

"Very  well!  What  does  your  bright  brain  slight  '" 

"Make  sure  if  Lauriston  has  been  ordered  out  of 
Paris." 

"How?" 


112  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"Monsieur  d'Argenson  is  under  obligations  to  my 
husband.  Though  he  is  the  head  of  all  the  police  of 
Paris,  and  people  tremble  at  his  name,  and  his  spies  are 
everywhere,  still  I  think  he  will  do  me  a  slight  favor. 
A*  letter  of  introduction  to  him  from  me,  and  he  will 
probably  answer  your  question  as  to  whether  he  ever 
ordered  a  Monsieur  Lauriston  out  of  France !  " 

Ten  minutes  afterwards  D'Arnac  drives  hurriedly  to 
the  He  de  la  Cite,  and  going  to  the  Bureau  de  Surete,  is 
affably  received  by  D'Argenson,  who,  as  chief  of  the  police 
of  Louis  the  XIV  ,  holds  in  his  hands  the  city  of  Paris. 

On  Raymond  asking  his  questions,  Monsieur  le  Lieu- 
tenant replies:  "There  never  has  been  a  Lauriston 
in  Paris,  as  far  as  I  know,  consequently  I  have  never 
ordered  him  out  of  it." 

Then  summoning  one  of  his  assistants,  he  says: 
"  Have  you  ever  heard  the  name  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  d'Argenson." 

"Where  ?" 

"  It  was  on  several  letters  addressed  to  the  care  of 
Monsieur  Poisson,  Rue  Dauphin;  but  I  have  never  seen 
the  man." 

"You  see?"  D'Argenson  remarks  as  his  assistant 
goes  out. 

Then  turning  to  Raymond,  he  says:  "  I  would  like 
to  do  you  any  favor  in  my  power.  Monsieur  le  Comte, 
both  for  your  sister's  sake  and  for  the  sake  of  your 
dead  father,  who  some  fifteen  years  ago,  long  before  I 
obtained  my  present  rank,  was  kind  to  me.  This  man, 
Lauriston,  has  not  been  ordered  out  of  Paris.  The 
only  great  gambler  to  whom  I  ever  sent  a  polite  request 
to  depart  from  France  was  Monsieur  Jean  Lass.  He 
was  also  a  friend  of  the  comedian,  Poisson ;  but  that  is 
not  curious,  as  Poisson  is  intimate  with  all  great  gam- 
blers. Lass'  greatest  friend  among  the  profession,  how- 
ever, was  Madame  Duclos,  the  celebrated  tragedienne. 
But  I  did  not  give  his  congt  to  Monsieur  Lass  on 
account  of  his  gambling,  but  on  account  of  other  things, 
in  which  I  would  not  advise  you  to  interest  yourself, 
my  young  friend."" 

So  Raymond,  coming  out  from  this  interview,  con- 
cludes that  Dillon/s  Uncle  Johnny  and  his  niece  are 
beyond  his  finding. 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  113 

Returning  with  this  news  to  the  Rue  St.  Honore",  he 
receives  a  tremendous  shock. 

He  is  met  almost  at  the  door  of  the  salon  by  Mimi. 
Her  dark  eyes  are  flashing  with  excitement,  and  very 
wide  open  with  astonishment;  but  her  brother's  become 
even  more  excited  and  more  wide  open,  as  she  says  to 
him:  "I  have  found  her!  " 

"Who?" 

"Madame  O'Brien  Dillon!  " 

"  Sapristi!     Where?" 

"At  the  convent  Des  Capucines  where  I  went  to 
visit  little  Jeanne.  I  thought  the  child  might  be  lonely. 
The  lady  you  seek  is  there  as  one  of  the  pupils! " 

"And  beautiful?" 

"As  beautiful — more  beautiful  than  the  miniature!" 

"You  have  made  some  inquiries  about  her  ?" 

"Yes,  she  was  placed  there  as  the  ward  of  Poisson, 
the  comedian! " 

"  Poisson,  the  comedian — Poisson,  the  LIAR!  "  shrieks 
D'Arnac.  Then  he  chuckles  to  himself:  "We  must 
outwit  this  farceur  of  the  Comedie  Fran$aise.  Will  you 
help  me,  Mimi  ?  " 

"With  all  my  heart,"  returns  La  Marquise  with 
excited  face  and  beaming  eyes. 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE    LIEUTENANT    OF    POLICE. 

"  You  made  these  inquiries — you  learned  this  from 
Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  personally  ? "  asks  Raymond, 
eagerly. 

"Partly!  Of  course  I  had  entrt  to  the  convent 
when  you  were  not  with  me.  I  was  shown  into  the 
private  parlor.  There  Jeanne  came  to  me  and  was 
delighted  to  see  me.  We're  going  to  be  very  great 
friends.  She  has  wonderful  esprit.  She  said  she  would 
like  the  place  very  much — for  a  year  or  two,  because  a 
great  artiste  should  have  a  grand  education." 

"But  the  other  one  ?  "  questions  D'Arnac,  biting  his 
moustache  with  impatience. 


114  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"  Oh,  I'm  coming  to  her!  In  her  remarks  about  the 
school,  Mademoiselle  Jeanne  expatiated  upon  the  beauty 
of  one  of  the  scholars. 

"  '  In  your  class  ? '  I  asked,  carelessly. 

"  '  Oh,  no!  she's  .by  herself!  She  is  much  older  than 
I — almost  nineteen  or  twenty!  But  she  has  the  beauty 
of  an  angel  and  a  fascination  au  diable.  Sometimes 
more  of  the  first,  sometimes  more  of  the  second,' 
remarked  the  little  Quinault,  whose  theatrical  experi- 
ence," continues  Madame  la  Marquise,  with  a  slight 
laugh,  "  has  given  her  a  most  precocious  understanding 
of  human  nature.  Well,  Jeanne  went  on ,  with  almost 
childish  pertinacity,  about  the  wonderful  loveliness  of 
the  girl,  and  as  she  described  her,  somehow  the  miniature 
of  yesterday  came  into  my  mind.  La  Quinault's  descrip- 
tion recalled  it. 

"  '  Nonsense!'  said  I,  'you're  extravagant,'  for  her 
persistency  wearied  me. 

"'Extravagant!  Look  at  her,  and  say  I  exaggerate! 
Out  in  the  garden.  She's  there  now!'  cried  Jeanne, 
and  pulled  me  towards  the  window,  and  under  the 
budding  trees  I  saw  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon! 

"'Ah!  who's  extravagant  now!'  said  little  Jeanne, 
for  I  had  given  a  gasp  of  surprise  at  the  discovery  and 
a  gasp  of  astonishment  at  the  beauty  of  the  girl  herself, 
which  is  greater  than  her  miniature.  Even  her 
uniform,  for  she  was  in  full  convent  school  girl's  dress, 
could  not  modify  it;  in  fact,''  continues  Mimi,  with 
a  laughing  blush,  "  it  rather  added  to  it,  for  very  short 
skirts  revealed  feet  and  ankles  adorable." 

"  You  spoke  to  her,'1  asks  Raymond,  eagerly. 

"Yes,  a  few  words,  but  very  guardedly.  To  do  this 
I  amused  myself  with  Jeanne  and  then  proposed  a  walk 
in  the  garden.  Here  1  met  the  )  oung  lady  herself,  and 
Jeanne  cried  out  in  her  impulsive  way:  'Come  here 
and  make  your  courtesy  to  Madame  la  Marquise  de 
Chateaubrien.  I  told  her  you  were  the  beauty  of  the 
school.  Come  here  and  live  up  to  your  reputation.' 

"At  this,  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon,  giving  me  a  rather 
haughty  salutation,  said:  '  I  come  to  you,  Madame  la 
Marquise,  to  show  you  little  Mademoiselle  Jeanne  some- 
times tells  fibs.' 

"  'Not  this  time,  Hilda1  '  answered  La  Quinault." 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  115 

"  Hilda  is  the  name!  "  cries  D'Arnac. 

"  Yes,  but  her  other  one  is  not  '  Van  Hoist  ? '  " 

"Ah!  it  is  'Dillon!" 

"  Not  now!     She  calls  herself  '  Poisson! ' ' 

"  Poisson  ? " 

"She  was  left  there  by  the  comedian  as  his  niece  and 
ward  nearly  two  weeks  ago,"  answers  La  Marquise. 

"The  niece  of  Lauriston,  the  niece  of  Poisson,  and 
still  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon.  There's  more  mystery 
here  than  ever." 

"Lots  more,"  cries  Mimi,  "I've  some  now  on  my 
lips  if  you  don't  interrupt  me. 

"On  coming  away,  as  I  was  bidding  adieu  to  the 
mother  superior,  I  incidentally  mentioned  the  wondrous 
beauty  of  her  charge. 

"  '  Yes,  too  beautiful! '  she  replied.  Then  the  good 
woman  whispered  quite  tremblingly  to  me :  '  She  has 
been  here  but  two  weeks,  and  already  an  attempt  has 
been  made  to  carry  her  off.  If  it  had  succeeded,  what 
a  scandal  on  Des  Capucines!  ' 

"  '  Ah,  she  does  not  wish  to  remain  with  you — 
Mademoiselle  is  naughty  and  would  run  away,'  sneered 
I,  to  draw  her  on. 

"  'No,  I  don't  think  she  knows  of  the  attempt  at 
all,'  replied  the  mother  superior.  Then,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  she  continued:  'Madame  la 
Marquise,  you  are  a  woman  of  the  world.  Your 
husband  is  my  patron.  May  I  ask  your  advice  upon 
this  matter  ? ' 

"  'Certainly,'  said  I,  trying  to  restrain  my  eagerness. 

"'It  only  happened  yesterday  afternoon.  You 
remember,  just  as  you  left,  a  carriage  drove  up  to  our 
door.' 

"  '  Oh,  yes  ;  the  one  with  the  arms  and  liveries  of  the 
Prince  de  Conti,'  I  remarked. 

"  'Ah!  that  is  what  nearly  deceived  me,'  cried  la 
Superieure.  '  A  gentleman  coming  in  that  carriage 
presented  me  with  a  note,  apparently  written  by 
Monsieur  Poisson  of  the  Francais,  who  is  the  girl's 
uncle  and  guardian.  It  directed  me  to  deliver  the 
young  lady  to  him,  as  Monsieur  Poisson  had  determined 
to  place  her  in  another  convent.  This  seemed  to  me 
quite  natural,  as  her  guardian  had  said  she  would  not 


Il6  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

probably  remain  long  at  Des  Capucines.  I  was  about 
to  deliver  her  up,  when  suddenly,  to  my  astonishment, 
in  walked  Monsieur  Poisson  himself.  He  had  come 
accidentally  to  see  his  charge.  As  he  entered,  the 
gentleman  (for  his  bearing  was  that  of  a  courtier) 
muttered  some  excuse  about  going  to  arrange  the  coach 
for  the  young  lady,  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes  and 
went  hurriedly  out. 

"'You  have  come  to  get  your  ward  in  person?' 
said  I. 

' '  '  No ;  only  to  speak  to  her,  and  to  leave  her  a  basket 
of  bonbons  and  fruits,  with  your  permission,'  replied 
the  actor. 

"  '  Then,  what  means  this  note  ?'  I  gasped  hurriedly, 
handing  it  to  him. 

"  '  He  glanced  at  it,  shrieked  "  Forgery!  "  and  was  so 
overcome  that  he  sank  on  a  chair  trembling,  muttering: 
'  If  he  had  succeeded,  what  Would  I  have  said  to  the 
Prince  ?  ' 

"  'I  stepped  hurriedly  to  the  window  to  recall  the 
man  who  had  delivered  the  letter,  but  he  was  driving 
away  like  the  wind,  in  the  carriage  that  bore  the  Conti 
arms. 

"  '  So  you  think  the  Prince  de  Conti  tried  to  abduct 
your  charge  ? '  suggested  I. 

"'Certainly  not!'  said  the  mother  superior,  excit- 
edly. '  It  was  the  Prince  de  Conti's  recommendation 
that  made  me  take  the  young  lady  into  our  convent. 
Monsieur  Poisson  said  he  used  the  Conti  arms  on  his 
carriage  as  part  of  his  plot.  Oh !  I  fear  there  is  some 
extraordinary  intrigue — something  perhaps  political; 
something  that  may  bring  trouble  upon  Des  Capucines. 
If  I  had  known  I  would  never  have  accepted  her  care 
— -not  even  if  all  the  princes  in  France  asked  it.' 

"So  the  Prince  de  Conti  requested  them  to  take 
charge  of  her!"  says  Raymond,  as  his  sister  stops. 
"Then  O'Brien  may  be  right;  she  may  be  a  princess 
of  the  blood. " 

"  Nonsense,  it  is  her  beauty,  not  her  rank,  that 
makes  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  important,"  rejoins 
Mimi.  A  moment  after  she  cries:  "How  I  would 
like  to  guess  the  mystery — who  is  trying  to  abduct 
her  ?  " 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  1 17 

"  That  you  shall  do  very  shortly,  with  my  assistance," 
remarks  D'Arnac,  in  the  superb  confidence  of  youth- 
ful manhood. 

"How?" 

"  Arrange  an  interview  for  me  with  Madame  O'Brien 
Dillon.  You  can  see  her  again  to-day  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  left  some  unfinished  directions  to  la  petite 
Quinault  to  give  me  an  excuse  to  return  to  Des  Capu- 
cifies,"  answers  La  Marquise.  Then  she  says  suddenly: 
"What  can  she  tell  you?  The  beauty  inside  the 
convent  doesn't  seem  to  know  of  these  men's  plots 
outside  it." 

"That  information  I  shall  get  from  another  quarter," 
laughs  Raymond,  very  wise  and  deep  about  the  eyes. 

"Ah!  How?" 

"From  Monsieur  le  Procureur  !  " 

"Brava!  " 

"  I'll  go  to  Cousin  Charlie.  Who  can  tell  me  better 
about  a  court  intrigue  ?  Who  knows  more  about  the 
gossip  of  Paris?  Who  is  deeper  in  the  law?  Who 
can  better  advise  me  how  to  protect  my  friend,  O'Brien 
Dillon's  wife,  than  Cousin  Charlie  ?  " 

"Bright  boy!"  exclaims  Mimi.  "While  you  go  to 
Cousin  Charlie,  I'll  do  Madame  Dillon." 

Leaving  his  sister,  Raymond  hurriedly  crosses  the 
Pont  Neuf  to  the  lie  de  la  Cite,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
is  on  the  Quai  de  1'Horloge.  Entering  the  Palais  de 
Justice  he  soon  finds  himself  at  the  offices  of  the 
Procureur  du  Roy,  and  shortly  after  is  shown  into  the 
private  apartment  of  De  Moncrief. 

"A  visit  to  my  office?  Raymond,  my  boy,  that 
must  mean  business!"  says  Cousin  Charlie,  motioning 
D'Arnac  to  a  seat. 

"Yes.     Important  business!  " 

"Your  own  ?  " 

"That  of  a  friend — a  brother  in  arms — Colour! 
O'Brien  Dillon,  who  saved  my  life  at  Friburg!  Whose 
business  I  will  make  my  own." 

"Oh,  the  wild  Irishman!  He's  off  fighting  the 
Turks,  isn't  he  ?" 

"Yes,  but  he  has  a  wife  here." 

"  Diable  !  a  pretty  one  ? " 

"Very  beautiful1  though  I  have  never  seen  her! 


Il8  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"  But  want  to.     Where  is  she  ?  " 

"She  is  a  school-girl  in  the  convent  Des  Capucines, 
Rue  Louis  le  Grand!" 

"A  school-girl — the  wife  of  Colonel  O'Brien  Dillon  ? 
and  most  beautiful!  This  sounds  interesting!" 
chuckles  the  Procureur,  and  would  give  the  young  man 
a  sly  nudge,  did  not  Raymond's  severe  manner  check 
such  youthful  indiscretions  on  the  part  of  the  aged 
lawyer. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  to  do  for  him,  or — his 
wife  ?  " 

Thus  requested,  Raymond  commences  to  hint  and 
beat  about  the  bush,  telling  of  his  interview  with  Pois- 
son,  the  comedian.  But  in  the  midst  of  this  the  lawyer 
stops  him  by  saying:  "Enough!  I  won't  take  your 
case!  I  won't  give  you  my  advice!  " 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  you  are  not  telling  me  all!  Now,  if  you 
wish  my  counsel  as  your  cousin,  tell  me  what  you 
please.  If  you  wish  my  counsel  both  as  your  cousin 
and  as  your  lawyer,  tell  me  EVERYTHING  !  Which  do  you 
want  ?" 

"Both." 

"Then  the  entire  story." 

Thus  compelled,  Raymond  gives  a  complete  history 
of  Colonel  O'Brien  Dillon,  from  the  time  he  had  met 
him  up  to  the  present  moment. 

As  it  goes  on  the  look  of  pleasant  interrogation  on 
the  lawyer's  face  changes  gradually  into  that  of  most 
intense  and  personal  interest.  As  his  cousin  reaches 
the  description  of  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  and  the 
attempt  to  abduct  her  by  an  individual  in  the  liveries 
of  the  Prince  de  Conti,  De  Moncrief's  concern  becomes 
so  dominant  that  he  hardly  breathes.  And  as  Raymond 
concludes,  a  sigh  of  rapturous  delight  floats  from  his 
thin  lips  as  he  murmurs:  "Is  that  all  ?  " 

"  Everything.     Now  what  do  you  advise  ?  " 

After  a  moment's  contemplation,  Cousin  Charlie 
promptly  gives  council  that  he  knows  will  not  be 
accepted.  He  says:  "If  I  gave  you  the  advice  of  a 
lawyer  I  should  say,  '  Do  nothing  about  it.  You  may 
burn  your  fingers  pulling  your  friend's  chestnuts  out  of 
the  fire.'" 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  Iig 

"But  that  is  not  what  O'Brien  would  do  for  me!" 
cries  D'Arnac,  impetuously. 

"No?  I  suppose  he  is  hot-blooded  like  yourself, 
and  would  protect  the  Countess  d'Arnac  (if  you  were 
foolish  enough  to  have  one)  with  his  life,  his  sword,  and 
his  honor!  " 

"And  I  will  do  the  same  by  him!  " 

"Then  you  want  my  advice  as  your  friend?"  says 
Cousin  Charlie,  looking  very  curiously  at  Raymond 
over  his  eye-glasses. 

"Yes,  as  my  cousin  and  one  of  my  family,  and — as 
a  man  of  honor  !  " 

"  Very  well.  Here  it  is:  I  would  protect  Madame 
O'Brien  Dillon  by  every  means  in  my  power.  Then  I 
would,  if  possible  forward  her  to  Vienna.  My  purse  is 
at  your  service  for  that  purpose." 

"  I  do  not  need  that,  but  your  counsel  will  be  very 
valuable  to  me." 

"Very  well.  The  first  thing  you  must  do  is  to 
protect  this  beauty  from  any  further  attempts  at  abduc- 
tion by  force  or  artifice.  Monsieur  d'Argenson,  the 
Chief  of  Police,  will  attend  to  that  for  you." 

"You  would  go  to  him?" 

"At  once!  and  tell  him  your  story  in  full.  It  is  but  a 
step  to  the  Bureau  de  Surete.  After  your  interview  with 
D'Argenson,  return  to  me,  and  tell  me  what  he  says!" 

"Immediately!"  replies  D'Arnac,  and  bolts  from 
the  office,  as  the  Procureur  du  Roy,  emitting  a  hoarse 
chuckle,  sits  hurriedly  at  his  desk  and  writes  a  little 
note.  Then  calling  in  an  attendant,  he  says:  "Take 
this  in  person  to  Monsieur  d'Argenson." 

"  And  leave  it  ?  "  asks  the  clerk. 

"No!  In  all  probability  my  cousin,*  the  Comte 
d'Arnac,  is  at  present  with  him.  You  saw  him;  the 
young  officer  who  just  left  me  ? " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Go  to  the  Office  of  Police  and  wait  until  you  see 
Monsieur  d'Arnac  ushered  into  the  private  apartment 
of  the  Lieutenant.  Wait  then  five — no — ten  minutes — 
and  then  say  you  must  see  Monsieur  d'Argenson  at 
once!  .  No  matter  what  they  say  to  you,  insist,  and 
interrupt  the  interview!  Give  D'Argenson  this  letter  in 
person,  and  then  return  to  me!  Remember  that  the 


120  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

time  of  the  delivery  of  the  letter,  ten  minutes  after  my 
cousin  has  been  closeted  with  him,  is  of  vital  impor- 
tance ! " 

"Yes,  sir;  ten  minutes  after  the  Comte  d' Arnac  goes 
into  the  Lieutenant  of  Police's  private  office!  "  and  the 
assistant,  who  understands  Monsieur  le  Procureur's 
methods  of  business  very  well,  departs  upon  his  errand. 

Meantime  Raymond  has  bolted  to  the  Bureau  de 
Surete,  and  astonished  Monsieur  d'Argenson  by  being 
announced  a  second  time. 

Curiosity  obtains  him  an  immediate  interview,  for  the 
Lieutenant  mutters  "Parbleu!  Twice  in  one  day! 
There  must  be  some  new  developments!  "  and  bids  his 
attendant  show  Monsieur  d'Arnac  in  at  once. 

Here  Raymond  hurriedly  tells  of  what  he  has  discov- 
ered in  regard  to  the  niece  of  Lauriston,  and  the  attempt 
that  had  been  made  to  abduct  her  but  yesterday,  and 
astonishes  Monsieur  d'Argenson. 

Then  the  Lieutenant  of  Police  makes  reply,  and  aston- 
ishes his  visitor  still  more. 

He  says,  shortly:  "You  are  not  speaking  of  the 
niece  of  John  Lauriston,  but  of  Monsieur  Jean  Lass, 
called  in  his  own  country,  Law!" 

"  You  astound  me !     Is  it  possible  ?" 

"It  is  certainty!  Monsieur  Law — called  here  in 
Paris,  Lass — sometimes  travels,  on  his  gambling  expe- 
ditions through  Europe,  under  assumed  names.  What 
more  natural  than  that  he  should  take  the  name  of  his 
estate,  Lauriston,  in  Scotland  ?  Besides,  Ihave  known 
of  this  affair  you  speak  of  for  some  time.  Not  that  the 
lady  was  married  to  your  friend,  the  Irish  officer,  and 
that  her  real  name  is  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon — but 
other  things  about  her.  I  am  delighted  to  have  the 
opportunity  of  stopping  this  intrigue  now.  I  will  give 
you  my  assistance.  The  whole  power  of  the  police  of 
Paris  is  yours  to  take  this  lady  who  has  kept  me  awake 
at  nights,  from  the  convent,  and  send  her  to  her 
husband  in  Vienna,  where  I  wish  him  joy  of  her." 

Astonished  and  delighted,  D'Arnac  is  about  to  thank 
the  policeman.  But  D'Argenson  goes  hurriedly  on: 
"  You're  under  no  obligation  to  me  in  this  rnatter. 
It's  what  I've  wanted  to  do  ever  since  I  gave  his  congt 
to  Monsieur  Lass." 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  121 

"Then  I  can  rely  on  your  stopping  all  attempts  at 
abducting  her  ?  " 

"  More!  I  know  who  is  the  instigator  of  them,  and  if 
necessary  I  will  report  his  conduct  to  the  King.  Then 
we  will  see  if  Philippe  Due — "  checking  himself — "we 
will  see  if  the  party  in  question  dare  raise  a  hand,  high 
though  he  is,  against  the  command  of  his  sovereign !  " 

As  the  Chief  of  Police  says  these  last  words,  there  is 
a  hurried  rap  on  the  door. 

"  I  must  not  be  interrupted  now!  "  he  calls  out. 

"It's  a  letter,"  answers  one  of  his  clerks,  "one  of 
imperative  importance,  I  am  told,  from  the  Procureur 
du  Roy!" 

"Give  it  to  me — I'll  glance  at  it! "'  says  D'Argenson 
suddenly.  "  Excuse  me  a  moment,  then  I  will  arrange 
the  details  of  my  assistance  with  you,  Monsieur 
d'Arnac. " 

With  these  words  the  Lieutenant  of  Police  breaks 
open  the  letter  of  Monsieur  de  Moncrief,  and  as  his 
eyes  run  over  it,  says:  "  Pish!  it's  but  official  routine!  " 

But  towards  the  close  of  the  letter  his  features  become 
contracted,  as  if  in  deep  thought,  his  face  grows  pale, 
and  crumpling  the  missive  in  his  hand,  he  shoves  it 
angrily  into  his  pocket. 

Then  his  manner  suddenly  changes.  He  turns  to 
D'Arnac  and  astounds  him  with  these  words:  "On 
further  consideration  I  deem  it  best  to  leave  this  matter 
of  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  entirely  alone,  and  let  it  take 
its  natural  course!  " 

"  You  will  not  aid  me  ?  " 

The  Lieutenant  hesitates  a  moment,  then  says 
sharply:  "  It's  impossible!  I  cannot!" 

"  You  cannot  ?  " 

"  To  be  very  frank  with  you,"  returns  the  Lieutenant, 
noting  the  distress  in  the  young  man's  face,  "  I  dare 
not!  " 

"Something  in  my  cousin's  letter  has  deterred  you  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  His  note  was  simply  routine  business. 
But  I  have  made  up  my  mind. "  Then  D'Argenson  goes 
on  more  cordially:  "My  young  friend,  take  my  advice! 
Let  the  matter  severely — entirely  alone!  You  do  not 
know  what  you  may  encounter  in  protecting  the  wife  of 
your  friend." 


122  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"  But  I  shall  attempt  it,  even  if  Monsieur  le  Lieutenant 
de  Police  does  not  dare  it!"  replies  D'Arnac  with  a 
ceremonious  yet  haughty  bow,  and  leaves  the  office  of 
the  Chief  of  Police,  while  that  official  looks  after  him, 
muttering  to  himself:  "  Pardieu!  I  wish  him  joy  of  his 
bargain !  " 

A  second  later  a  little  official  shiver  runs  through  him 
as  he  thinks,  "How  near  I  came  to  putting  my  foot  in  it!  "• 

But  Raymond  does  not  entirely  believe  the  statement 
of  Monsieur  d'Argenson,  that  the  letter  of  his. cousin 
had  not  altered  his  determination,  and  he  bursts  quite 
indignantly  into  Cousin  Charlie's  private  office,  crying: 
"I  would  have  had  his  assistance  had  it  not  been  for 
your  infernal  note.-" 

"  Oh,  the  one  I  sent  to  the  Lieutenant  of  Police  during 
your  interview  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Did  it  prevent  his  making  a  move  in  the  matter  ?  " 

"It  did  !" 

"But  it  also  showed  me  that  you  should  make  no 
move  in  the  matter,  because  now  I  know  who  is  trying 
to  abduct  Madame  O  Brien  Dillon  !  " 

"Sapristi!     Who?" 

"Monsieur  le  Due  d  Orleans,  who  will  very  shortly, 
unless  the  stars  fall,  become  Regent  of  France  !  "  This 
last  is  whispered  into  D'Arnac's  astonished  ear. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ? " 

"  I  discovered  it  from  your  interview  with  Monsieur 
d'Argenson  !  "  remarks  Cousin  Charlie,  smiling,  and 
happy  as  a  child  that  has  solved  the  secret  of  a  new 
riddle. 

"How?" 

"  You  told  Monsieur  d'Argenson  your  story  ?  " 

"Yes  !" 

"  He  agreed  to  aid  you  ?  " 

"Most  cordially  !  He  said  he  would  go,  if  necessary, 
to  the  King." 

"Then  my  note  came,  and  he  suddenly  said  he  would 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter  ? "  returns  De 
Moncrief,  with  a  chuckle. 

"Yes." 

"Well,  what  did  my  note  contain?  Simply  this:  a 
statement  of  various  official  data  that  it  is  necessary  for 


A     PRINCESS     OF     I'ARIS.  123 

me  as  Procureur  du  Roy  to  render  to  D'Argenson  as 
Lieutenant  de  Police.  But  at  the  close  I  added  two 
lines:  '  By-the-bye,  have  you  heard  that  His  Majesty 
had  yesterday  another  attack  of  his_  stomach  trouble, 
and  is  at  present  very  low  at  Versailles  ? '  Then 
Monsieur  d'Argenson  said  he  would  not  aid  you  !  Why  ? 
Because  he  feared  there  would  soon  be  a  Regent  in 
France,  during  the  minority  of  the  young  King,  and 
that  Regent  Philippe  d'Orleans,  who  has  seen  Madame 
O'Brien  Dillon  and  fallen  so  deeply  in  love  with  her  that 
he  would  even  risk  the  King's  displeasure  to  gain  her  for 
himself.  You  know  Monsieur  loves  every  pretty  woman. 
Think  how  he  must  love  one  as  beautiful  as  the  minia- 
ture you  showed  me  when  you  told  me  the  story  of 
Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  ! " 

"Well,  what  do  you  advise  under  these  circum- 
stances ?  "  asks  Raymond. 

"  There  is  but  one  chance  for  your  friend  !  That  is 
to  get  his  wife  out  of  France  immediately.  Certainly 
before  the  Duke  becomes  the  Regent,  and  all  power- 
ful !  " 

"That  I  shall  attempt  at  once  ?  "  replies  Raymond. 
"  Thank  you  for  your  advice  !  " 

"But  be  wise,  my  boy  !  You're  running  against 
another  bastion,  mined  like  that  of  Friburg. " 

."Yes;  but  O'Brien  Dillon  did  not  hesitate  to  enter  it 
to  save  my  life — shall  I  hesitate  now  to  save  his  honor  ?  " 
cries  Raymond,  the  enthusiasm  of  twenty  blazing  in 
his  eyes,  and  giving  intensity  to  his  voice. 

"Then  God  be  with  you  !  "  remarks  Cousin  Charlie, 
as  D'Arnac,  wringing  his  hand,  leaves  the  office. 

His  eyes  watch  the  retreating  figure  of  the  young 
man,  and  as  Raymond  disappears,  De  Moncrief,  clos- 
ing the  door  of  his  office,  bursts  into  such  chuckles  of 
joy  and  merriment  that  old  Satan,  down  below,  snickers 
to  his  imps:  "Has  our  old  friend  the  Procureur  up 
stairs  got  a  new  ballet  girl  or  a  new  villainy  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE    PIE    OF    THE    PRIM  I      HI     >  "NTI. 

A  FEW  MOMENTS  devoted  to  joy  and   De    Moncrief 
comes  to  business.      He  thinks:    "Now  I  can  get  my 


124  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

finger  in  this  great  pie  that  is  to  be  cooked  on  the  death 
of  his  Majesty.  Now  the  estates  of  Count  de  Crevecoeur 
will  surely  be  mine,  because  my  cousin,  who  would 
inherit  them  before  me,  will  certainly  pass  away  !" 

But  a  second  after  he  mutters :  "I  must  be  moving ! 
Strike  while  the  iron  is  very  hot,  and  this  one  is  'in  the 
forge  now  !  " 

And  leaving  his  office  takes  carriage,  for  he  fears  his 
shrivelled  legs  will  not  carry  him  fast  enough,  to  the 
Hotel  de  Conti,  the  palace  of  that  Cadet  branch  of 
the  house  of  Conde  Bourbon — the  youngest,  yet  the 
haughtiest  of  the  family  of  France. 

Arriving  there,  he  begs  the  gentleman  in  waiting  will 
take  his  name  to  Monsieur  le  Prince  and  tell  him  Charles 
de  Moncrief,  his  humble  servant,  must  see  him  on  a 
matter  of  most  immediate  and  urgent  business. 

A  few  minutes  after  he  is  shown  in  to  the  private 
apartments  of  the  head  of  the  younger  family  of  the 
house  of  Bourbon.  These  are  situated  in  a  pavilion 
that  occupies  a  portion  of  the  court  yard  of  the  great 
house  and  are  arranged  in  the  Italian  style  as  the 
Prince  likes  that  country  and  spends  a  great  portion  of 
his  winters  in  Venice,  Florence  and  Rome.  They  are 
filled  with  furniture  bought  at  great  price  from  the 
Palazzos  of  Italian  noblemen  and  have  been  frescoed 
and  adorned  by  artists  imported  fiom  that  country. 
Every  fitting  of  these  rooms  indicates  a  lavish  prodi- 
gality in  money  matters — so  great  that  the  house  of 
Conti  was  regarded  as  very  bad  pay  by  the  usurers  of 
Paris. 

As  the  Procureur  enters,  Louis  de  Conti,  rising  from 
a  chair,  says  in  the  easy  way  of  the  most  affable,  yet 
the  most  villainous,  most  unprincipled,  most  scala- 
waggy  Prince  of  those  most  scalawaggy  times:  "Take 
a  chair  with  me,  Moncrief.  I  have  shoved  the  Burgundy 
your  way,  and  will  you  join  me  in  a  pipe  ?"  For  tobacco 
was  at  that  moment  the  newest  fad  in  Paris. 

"  No!  Perhaps  you  would  prefer  snuff  ?  "  And  this 
affable  yet  haughty  prince  passes  his  snuff-box  embossed 
with  jewels  that  form  his  crest,  towards  Cousin  Charlie, 
who  pounces  upon  it  and  enjoys  it. 

"Now  between  sneezes,"  laughs  Louis  de  Conti, 
"  tell  me  why  you  must  see  me  at  once !  " 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  125 

"Why  ?  "  says  the  lawyer,  "  because  if  we  don't  act 
on  the  instant,  the  great  scheme  of  your  life — the  one 
you've  been  working  on  for  the  last  year — the  one  you 
think  of  at  night — the  one  you  dream  of  by  day — will 
be  smashed  into  ten  thousand  pieces,  and  we  will  not 
be  able  to  pick  up  one  of  them!  " 

"WE?  \Vhat  dream  of  my  life  ?  What  scheme  that 
I  have  been  working  on  for  a  year  ?  Do  you  mean  my 
new  device  to  pay  my  debts  with  nothing  ?  "  laughs  De 
Conti,  though  his  eyes  are  serious,  almost  menacing. 

"Yes,  for  your  great  scheme  includes  that  lesser 
"one." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  mean,"  says  Cousin  Charlie,  though  his  legs 
tremble  under  him  at  his  audacity,  "  the  scheme  you 
have  with  Monsieur  Jean  Lass,  financier  and  gambler, 
on  the  death  of  one  to  whom  we  doff  our  hats  and  bow 
our  knee,  when  the  Due  d' Orleans  becomes  Regent,  to 
obtain  from  him,  first  the  charter  ot  your  National  Bank, 
next  the  revenue  of  the  French  Colonies — ultimately  the 
control  of  the  finances  of  France !  " 

"You  must  be  mad!"  gasps  De  Conti.  Then  he 
grins  hideously  and  says:  "Charles  de  Moncrief,  the 
words  you  have  used  are  petty  treason !  " 

"But  you  will  not  report  them  ?"  whispers  Cousin 
Charlie,  agitated  but  determined. 

"Why  not  ?" 

"Because  I  will  show  you  that  it  is  to  your  interest 
to  make  me  a  member  of  your  combination — that  it  is 
fatal  to  you  not  to  do  so!  " 

" Morbleu  !  you  are  out  of  your  senses!  The  lunatic 
asylum,  not  the  prison,  will  be  the  proper  place  for 
you !  "  blusters  De  Conti. 

"  Yes,  but  these  will  be  my  ravings":  cries  de  Mon- 
crief. "  De  Conti  being  for  a  Prince  of  France  most 
infernally  hard  up,  and  Jean  Lass,  the  greatest  gambler 
on  earth  being  most  ambitious,  the  two  have  thought  to 
get  a  great  concession  from  Monsieur  le  Due  d'Orleans, 
when  he  becomes  the  Regent.  That  is,  the  concession 
of  a  bank,  next  of  a  great  commercial  company,  and  per- 
haps ultimately  control  of  the  collection  of  taxes  for 
France  itself.  These  concessions  they  expect  to  win, 
first  by  the  great  friendship  of  the  Duke  for  the  Prince  de 


126  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

Conti,  and  his  belief  in  the  financial  abilities  of  Jean 
Lass;  next,and  most  potent,  by  Philippe  d'Orleans'  love 
for  the  mistress  of  Jean  Lass,  whom  the  Regent  has 
seen  twice,  and  whose  beauty  has  ensnared  him  as  no 
other,  woman's  has  ever  done,  because  it  is  beyond  com- 
pare. That  when  they  saw  D'Orleans'  passion  for  her 
had  become  such  that  they  knew  he  would  grant  them 
all  privileges  to  obtain  her,  that  they  had  removed  her 
secretly,  and  by  aid  of  the  comedian  Poisson,  entered 
her  as  his  ward  in  the  convent  Des  Capucines.  Just  as 
this  took 'place,  D'Argenson,  Chief  of  Police,  suddenly 
ordered  Jean  Lass  out  of  France,  on  the  pretext  of" 
gambling,  but  really  to  stop  their  scheme.  Therefore, 
they  expect  to  hold  this  paragon  of  beauty,  who  is 
herself  willing,  having  tremendous  ambitions,  to  wait  a 
few  months  until  the  proper  time  comes,  to  become  per- 
chance a  second  Madame  de  Maintenon.  Thus  holding 
the  meat,  as  it  were,  beyond  the  reach  of  the  dog  to 
make  him  lick  his  royal  chops  the  more. 

"  Now  bring  in  your  keepers  and  I'll  begin  to  rave!  " 
concludes  the  Procureur,  smiling  at  De  Conti,  who  dur- 
ing the  last  part  of  this  oration  has  been  going  about 
eagerly  from  doors  to  windows  to  see  that  none  of  his 
maids  or  flunkeys  have  been  listening,  and  who  now 
regards  De  Moncrief  with  a  hang-dog,  half  frightened, 
half  surly  air. 

A  moment  later  the  Prince,  attempting  a  laugh,  says: 
"Have  you  any  more  ravings,  my  wise  lunatic?" 

"This  one,  that  this  fine  plan  has  suddenly  been 
stopped  by  the  Duke  discovering  the  whereabouts  of 
the  woman  he  adores,  and  his  attempt  to  abduct  her 
yesterday,  from  the  convent  Des  Capucines,  Rue  Louis 
le  Grand!"  whispers  De  Moncrief. 

"  Discovered  her!  Abducted  her!  "  shrieks  De  Conti. 
"  By  Heaven,  that  cursed  comedian  shall  answer  to  me 
with  his  miserable  soul !  " 

"Oh  ho!  the  lunatic's  ravings  were  right!  "  chuckles 
Cousin  Charlie.  "But  I  said  'had  discovered  her '  not 
'  had  abducted  '  her.  Furthermore,  I  can  tell  you  how 
he  shall  never  abduct  her!" 

"What  do  you  want  for  this  assistance  and  this 
advice  ? "  cautiously  remarks  De  Conti,  who  knows 
De  Moncrief  is  a  wary  bird. 


A      1'RIXi   ESS     '•(-•     PARIS.  127 

"Just  my  chance  to  put  my  own  hands  into  the  pie, 
when  it  is  cooked — nothing  down  and  NOTHING  ELSE  ! " 
remarks  l)e  Moncrief. 

"Very  well!     Then  assist  in  this  pie's  baking!  " 

"  Won't  I  ?  "  cries  Cousin  Charlie.  With  this  he  sits 
down  and  tells  the  Prince  the  whole  story  of  D'Arnac 
and  of  the  Irish  Colonel,  who  is  fighting  the  Turks,  and 
who  is  married  to  the  beautiful  object  of  their  specula- 
tion, and  concluding,  says:  "My  cousin  will  attempt  to 
remove  our  prize  from  the  convent.  We  must  do  so 
first,  and  send  her  to  Italy  to  Monsieur  Lass,  before 
D'Orleans  makes  another  attempt,  or  becomes  Regent." 

"But  if  your  cousin  should  interfere?  I've  heard 
D'Arnac's  a  dashing  fellow  and  has  a  ready  sword!  " 

"  Then  my  cousin  must  take  his  chances  as  any  other 
ENEMY ! " 

"  Ah,  you  do  not  object  to  treating  him  as  if  he  were 
an  outsider  ? " 

"No,  I  sacrifice  my  cousin  up  to  your  plans,  very 
willingly,"  laughs  De  Moncrief. 

"Oh,  yes,  he  has  estates,  I  presume." 

"Yes,  and  will  have  more  handsome  ones  if  he  lives. 
I  make  this  confession, "  remarks  Charlie,  "  to  show  you 
I  am  bound  to  you  as  well  as  you  to  me." 

"Very  well,  my  old  fox!  "  replies  De  Conti.  "  But 
how  did  you  discover  al!  this  you  have  told  me  ? " 

"  By  mathematics  ?  " 

4  4  Mathematics  ?   Morbleu  !  " 

"By  putting  two  and  two  together,  and  seeing  it 
makes  four.  By  the  babbling  of  a  drunken  comedian  to 
me  over  his  wine,  a  little  each  night,  but,  adding  them 
together,  they  made  a  revelation ;  by  the  conduct  of 
Monsieur  d'Argenson,  the  Chief  of  Police  to-day " 

"  So  th\»  Poisson  is  the  babbler  ?  "  growls  De  Conti, 
interrupting. 

"Yes!  We  must  take  the  girl  out  of  his  hands.      He 
plays  the  buffoon  off  the  stage  as  well  as  on  it ! ' 
'   "She  goes  to   Italy  to-night!"  answers  the   Prince 
determinedly.    e"  That  shall  be  my  personal  charge." 

"  It  is  our  only  safe  move  fron  botl  D'Orleans  and 
my  impetuous  cousin  !  " 

"You  are  sure  D'Arnac  acts  on  behalf  of  the  Irish 
officer?  She  is  beautiful  enough  toxemia  boy  of  his 


128  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

age  crazy,  both  with  love  and  despair!"  queries  De 
Conti. 

"Certain!  Raymond  has  not  even  seen  the  beauty, 
besides  he  is  devotion  itself  to  the  man  who  saved  his 
life!  " 

"  Sapristi !  I  thought  we  had  got  rid  of  this  wild 
Irishman!  "  mutters  the  Prince.  "  Lenoir  tried  to  put 
him  out  of  our  way  by  means  of  military  duty,  but  he 
escaped  the  most  deadly  positions  in  battle  and 
assault;  then  we  brought  influence  to  bear  on  Prince 
Eugene  to  offer  him  a  regiment  in  the  Imperial  Army, 
and  when  he  accepted  and  went  off  to  Vienna,  we 
thought  it  was  an  end  of  him;  but  here  he  is  in  the 
person  of  your  cursed  cousin  springing  up  again!  " 

"Yes,  Monsieur  Raymond  intends  to  take  Madame 
O'Brien  Dillon  off  to  her  husband  in  Vienna  if  we  don't 
move  to-night!  "  laughs  De  Moncrief. 

"Take  her  to  Vienna  ?  Destroy  the  scheme  of  my 
life !"  screams  De  Conti,  bubbling  over  with  rage.  Then 
he  mutters :  ' '  This  settles  Comte  d'Arnac !"  and  the  tone 
of  his  voice  means  death. 

"  By  the  way,  would  you  please  give  me  an  order  to 
Des  Capucines,  to  see  our  charge  ?  I  know  Poisson  is 
her  guardian,  but  she  was  placed  there  through  your 
influence,  and  a  note  from  you  and  my  name  and  official 
rank  will  be  sufficient, "  suggests  Cousin  Charlie. 

"You  want  to  see  her  ?  "  asks  De  Conti,  a  trace  of 
suspicion  in  his  voice. 

"  Certainly!  Because  she  is  so  beautiful!"  returns  the 
Procureur.  "  Second,  she  may  be  unwilling  to  go  to 
Italy.  I  wish  to  ascertain  that,  and  whether  it  will  be 
better  for  you  to  use  diplomacy  or  force  to  induce  her  to 
go  there." 

' '  Yes,  you're  just  the  inquisitor  to  get  at  the  innermost 
thoughts  of  our  fair  charge !  "  laughs  Monsieur  de  Conti, 
who  sits  down  and  writes  the  order. 

As  he  finishes  De  Moncrief  suggests  to  him:  "Now 
a  line  to  the  young  lady  just  to  say  she  can  trust  me." 

"  As  you  wish, "  answers  the  Prince,  "but  afte,r  this 
no  more  notes;  it's  too  much  work  to  write  them!"  and 
scribbles  off  two  sentences  to  the  girl  herself. 

As  he  receives  the  missive,  Cousin  Charlie  kisses 
the  hand  of  his  ally  and  takes  his  leave,  saying:  '  "  I'll 


A      PRINCKS>     <>l       PARIS.  129 

return  in  an  hour  and  tell  your  Highness  what  I  dis- 
cover." 

"  Adieu,  old  disciple  of  Richelieu  !  "  chuckles  De  Conti 
after  him  ;  then  turning  the  affair  over  in  his  mind,  he 
concludes:  "It  is  best  to  have  De  Moncrief,  the  old 
Renard,  in  our  affair!  We  need  legal  minds,  and  by  all 
the  gods  there  is  enough  plunder  for  everybody!  " 

For  this  scheme  was  of  such  financial  grandeur  that 
there  was  enough  in  it  to  bribe  Parliament,  the  Regent, 
the  Court — aye!  even  the  people  of  France,  and  after- 
wards every  banker,  broker,  money  changer  and  specu- 
lator in  Europe — which  meant, at  that  day,  the  civilized 
world. 

A  second  or  two  of  glum  consideration  and  De  Conti 
swears  a  great  Italian  oath,  and  mutters:  "  Per  Bacco  ! 
this  spring-gald  of  the  camp,  young  D'Arnac,  shall  not 
destroy  the  greatest  project  of  the  age !  " 

With  this  he  calls  to  his  counsel,  the  gentleman  who 
heads  his  bullies  and  bravos  who  do  the  abducting, 
assassinating,  and  such  like  duties,  for  this  most  Chris- 
tian prince  of  the  blood. 

Departing  on  this  errand,  De  Moncrief  soon  finds 
himself  at  Des  Capucines.  Presenting  his  letter  from  the 
Prince,  he  is  very  affably  received  by  the  mother  superior. 

"As  the  Procureur  du  ,Roy, "  he  remarks,  blandly, 
"I  have  heard  of  the  attempted  abduction  of  your 
charge.  I  wish  to  ask  the  young  lady — Mademoiselle 
Poisson — a  few  details  that  may  be  necessary  to  the 
Department  of  Justice  in  taking  cognizance  of  the 
affair.  I  would  like  a  private  interview  with  mademoiselle. " 

"It  is  against  the  rules  of  our  convent!  " 

"  It  is  imperative  for  the  affairs  of  justice!  " 

"Very  well,  then,"  replies  the  mother  superior. 
"  The  letter  of  the  Prince  de  Conti  and  Monsieur's 
high  position  as  the  Procureur  du  Roy  and  his  extreme 
age,  induce  me  to  grant  his  request.  Please  step  this 
way." 

So  De  Moncrief  follows  her,  wincing  and  snapping 
his  jaws  together  in  rage  at  the  thought  that  he  is  con- 
sidered by  this  holy  woman  too  old  to  be  very  dangerous. 

And  perhaps  it  is  well  that  he  is  no  young  gallant  of 
the  court,  though,  oh,  how  he  wishes  it  ! — for  the  beauti- 
ful sight  he  sees  as  Hilda  comes  into  the  room  would 


130  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

twist  the  heart  and  turn  the  head  of  any   man.     At  all 
events  it  does  his. 

She  is  in  the  dress  of  a  schoolgirl,  but  has  the 
coquetry  of  a  woman  and  a  loveliness  that  is  hardly  of 
the  earth,  and,  over  all,  that  wondrous  art,  indescrib- 
able as  electricity,  ethereal  as  the  breath  about  us,  but 
potent  as  the  powers  of  the  air — fascination ! — fascina- 
tion in  every  gesture,  fascination  in  every  pose, 
fascination  in  every  glance  of  the  eye,  in  every  tone 
of  the  voice ! 

To  this  vision  Monsieur  le  Procureur  bows  down  at 
once  and  worships  as  other  men  have  done  before  and 
other  men  will  do  again. 

For  a  second  she  stands  hesitating,  as  if  half  in 
doubt  as  to  her  bearing,  courtesying  after  the  manner  of 
the  school  to  the  old  and  dignified  gentleman  who  is 
gazing  at  her  with  all  his  eyes. 

A  moment  after,  remembering  him  as  one  of  the  very 
few  gentlemen  she  had  seen  at  Poisson's,  for  Uncle 
Johnny  had  kept  very  close  watch  on  his  trump  card 
since  she  arrived  in  Paris,  Hilda  gives  a  little  piquant 
pout  and  half  laughs,  half  sighs:  "  How  do  you  like 
my  masquerade  ?  I  am  here  because  I'm  naughty. 
Monsieur  Lass  would  not  trust  me  in  Italy  and  so 
placed  me  under  Monsieur  Poisson,  who  has  put  me  en 
retraite." 

"  Pardi  !  that  is  a  little  fairy  tale  for  those  who  do  not 
know  all !  "  laughs  the  Procureur. 

"ALL!"  ejaculates  the  girl;  then  says  hesitatingly, 
but  inquiringly:  "You  come — ?" 

"From  the  Prince  de  Conti,  the  ally  of  Monsieur 
Lass  in  our  little  affair.  This  note  will  prove  to  you 
that  I  am  one  of  your  adherents  and  promoters  of  your 
interest."  This  last  he  adds  hastily,  for  at  his  first 
sentence  Hilda's  eyes  have  opened  with  astonishment 
and  flashed  with  sudden  fright. 

In  a  second  she  pounces  on  and  devours  the  missive. 
Then  reads  it  over  carefully  again,  aloud: 

"  You  may  trust  him.      He  is  one  of  us! 

"DE  CONTI." 

"You  know  the  Prince's  signature!"  says  Cousin 
Charlie,  for  she  is  gazing  at  him  very  searchingly. 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  131 

"Perfectly!  But  I  don't  agree  with  the  Prince's 
convictions?  "  sneers  the  girl.  "Your  face  is  not  to  be 
trusted!  " 

"  Not  if  my  interests  pull  the  same  way  ?  " 

"Ah,  that  is  different!  Explain  how  your  interests 
are  my  interests!  " 

"With  pleasure!"  says  Cousin  Charlie.  "In  ten 
minutes  I'll  make  you  believe  in  me!  " 

And  in  five  minutes  he  does  so,  proving  to  her  as  her 
blue  eyes  glow  like  diamonds  as  they  try  to  read  his 
soul  that  her  elevation  will  make  his  success. 

"Yes,  I  see — I  understand!"  she  replies,  after  a 
moment's  consideration.  Then  she  whispers:  "Tell 
me  what  Monsieur  le  Prince  wants  me  to  do!  " 

"Certainly!"  and  De  Moncrief  does  so  lucidly, 
candidly,  and  in  full,  placing  the  whole  affair  before 
her,  for  he  has  been  studying  the  lovely  face  he  is  look- 
ing upon,  and  sees  in  it  great  ambition  and  great 
passions — and  at  present  ambition  dominates.  Then 
he  concludes:  "  ff  you  throw  yourself  into  D'Orleans1 
arms  now,  you  only  gain  what  he  can  give  you  NOW — 
nothing!  If  you  wait — not  long — till  he  is  Regent — 
then  he  can  give  you  France!  " 

"And  how  I  will  play  with  France !"  whispers  the 
young  lady,  for  the  conversation  is  still  in  an  under- 
tone. 

"Then  I  hope  you  will  not  forget  old  friends!" 
murmurs  Le  Procureur,  kissing  the  pretty  hand  that  has 
been  gesticulating  so  gracefully  before  him. 

"Oh,  I  shall  never  forget  you.  You  shall  always 
have  the  privilege  of — of  kissing  my  hand ! "  says 
Mademoiselle  Hilda,  with  fairy  archness. 

"That  will  make  me  always  happy!"  mutters  the 
Procureur,  but  his  wicked  old  eyes  say  more  than  his 
lips. 

A  moment  after  he  goes  on,  for  all  this  time  though 
she  bewitches  him,  he  is  trying  to  test  her  strength  for 
the  grand  role  of  high  priestess  in  this  great  political 
and  financial  scheme:  "  By-the-bye,  how  about  your 
acU-enture  with  the  wild  Irish  officer  ?  " 

"  \Vho  ?  "     The  blue  eyes  open  wick-  and  innocently. 

"Colonel  O'Brien  Dillon!  Why  did  you  marry  him?" 

"  Who  told  you  that  ? "  gasps  the  girl,  with  a  start. 


132  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"Oh,  I  know  all  about  your  adventures!  "  laughs  De 
Moncrief;  and  gives  her  the  story  as  he  heard  it  from 
D'Arnac;  then  repeats :  ~"  Why  did  you  marry  him  to 
complicate  this  affair  ? " 

"Why?"  cries  Hilda,  her  blue  eyes  becoming  like 
wood  violets  with  excitement,  perhaps  passion.  "  Why  ? 
Because  he  is  such  a  fighter!  " 

"A  fighter  !  "  gasps  De  Moncrief,  astonished. 

"The    grandest    fighter    I    ever    saw!      Ah!     you 
should  have  seen  that  glorious  duel  by  the  camp  fire ! ' 
and  she  is  up  before  the  Procureur  telling  the  story  not 
only  with  her  voice,  but  with  eyes  and  graceful  gestures, 
quick  as  the  actions  she  is  describing,  as  she  goes  or. : 
"  My  Irishman,  his  cavalry  jacket  thrown  off,  one  while 
sinewy  arm  bared  to  the  shoulder!     The  dark-browed, 
swarthy  scoundrel,  who  would  have  made  me  his  slave, 
stripped  likewise  for  the  combat,  and  fighting  almost  as 
well  as  my   blue-eyed  knight!     The  glistening  blades 
gleaming  now  and  then  in  the  flickering  firelight!  Then 
only  darkness  and  the  clink  of  steel, 'as  riposte  follow 
parry,     and    lunge    follows   counter!       Then    the    f; 
blazes  up  again !     A  wild  yell  from  Irish  Lanty,  one  p;.: 
more,  and  my  Irish  hero  has  him  through  the  heart,  ;.; 
the  man  who   would  have  made  me  his  slave  falls  dc.  v 
at  my  feet,  where  I  can  trample  him  into  the  dust." 

At  this  last  her  eyes  are  blazing  with  triumph,  ini ". 
nation,  scorn,  and  one  fairy  foot  is  uplifted  as  if  \ 
crush  the  corpse  that  lies  before  her. 

A  second  later  her  volatile  mood  changes,  and  : 
laughs:  "Would  you  not  have  loved,  too,  old  c 
blood,  for — FOR  A  LITTLE  WHILE  ?  " 

But  De   Moncrief  does  not  answer  this,  for  in  ti- 
the school  girl   of  Des  Capucines  has   frightened   hi. 
He  has  now  discovered  that  though  she  has  ambitii 
great  enough  to  take  in   France,  she  has  also   passk. 
enough  to  devour  the  world,  and  he  is  thinking  to  himsi 
•rather  grimly:   " It  is  fortunate  Monsieur  d'Orleans  i 
not   of   a    jealous    disposition."     A    moment  later  IK 
suggests  uneasily:      "  You  love  this  Irish  hero  still  ?  " 

" Mo n  Dieu  !  How  can  I  tell  ?  "  she  cries,  laughing. 
"  I  have  not  seen  him  for  a  year!  " 

And  this  reply  soothes  any  concern  he  may  have  as 
regards  O'Brien  Dillon. 


A     PRINCKSS     01       I'AKIS.  133 

"  All  the  same,"  he  remarks,  "my  fly-about  young 
lady,  your  marriage  has  placed  a  new  and  serious 
complication  for  your  friends  to  encounter.  Will  you 
help  them  to  meet  this  obstacle  to  your  future  great- 
ness ?" 

Her  reply  astounds  him  more.  Her  face  grows 
vindictive.  She  mutters:  "What?  Does  he  dare  to 
come  here  when  I  have  written  him  if  he  comes,  he 
dies?"  Then,  her  eyes  grow  tender,  she  says:  "Of 
course,  my  Irishman  dares  anything  to  see  my  face  !  " 
next  mutters  savagely:  "If  he  troubles  me,  let  him 
take  care!  " 

"  Not  in  person,"  replies  De  Moncrief,  "but  Dillon 
has  sent  a  representative!  " 

"A  what  ?  " 

"A  representative;  his  young  friend,  the  Comte 
d'Arnac. " 

"  Ah!  that  is  the  reason  his  sister,  Madame  la  Mar- 
quise de  Chateaubrien,  took  so  much  interest  in  me!  " 

"She  has  been  here  to  see  you?  " 

"Yes,  under  pretence  of  visiting  a  little  charge  of 
hers — la  petite  Quinault,  who  has  a  wild  kind  of  school- 
girl affection  for  this  young  D'Arnac,  whom  it  seems 
rescued  her  in  some  romantic  manner,  for  she  is  never 
tired  of  telling  of  his  exploits  at  the  siege  of  Friburg." 

"  You  have  spoken  to  Madame  la  Marquise  ?  " 

"Once!  and  that  merely  accidentally.  The  second 
time  she  tried  to  see  me,  but  I  did  not  think  it  wise  to 
meet  her,  as  there  is  no  telling  where  a  court  intrigue 
extends!  "  replies  the  young  lady  with  an  acumen  so 
beyond  her  years  that  De  Moncrief  gazes  at  her  in 
amazement. 

Then  he  tells  her  the  story  of  Raymond's  efforts  on 
behalf  of  his  comrade,  and  his  intention,  if  possible,  to 
remove  her  to  Vienna,  to  the  care  of  her  husband. 

"To  Vienna  ?"  mutters  the  girl,  her  face  growing 
white;  "to  Vienna  ?"  Never!"  and  stamps  both  fairy 
feet. 

"  Why  do  you  fear  Vienna  more  than  other  places  ?  " 

"Because  that  is  where  I  was  born — because  that 
was  where  they  spat  upon  and  degraded  my  mother  in 
the  Market  Place  because  she  dared  to  wed  a  count  of 
the  Empire." 


134  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

"Your  mother  was  a  Jewess,"  whispers  De  Moncrief. 

"No,  a  Magyar;  she  was  the  daughter  of  Tekeli  by 
a  morganatic  wife. " 

"The  last  King  of  Hungary!  "  gasps  De  Moncrief. 

"Yes,  the  one  even  now  in  hiding  with  the  Turks, " 
cries  the  girl.  Then  she  whispers:  "Wait  till  I  have 
France  in  my  hands,  and  Austria  shall  pay  for  my 
mother's  tears. " 

A  moment  after  she  laughs — "A  truce  to  history — 
ambition  can  wait.  Tell  me  what  I  must  do  now.  " 

"Now!  In  order,"  says  De  Moncrief,  "  to  stop  the 
attempts  of  Comte  d'Arnac  at  once  and  forever,  will 
you  do  as  I  tell  you  ? " 

" Diable\  with  pleasure.  Tell  me,"  remarks  Made- 
moiselle, nestling  'up  to  Cousin  Charlie  as  he  gives 
to  her  a  little  plan  that  has  originated  in  his  fertile  and 
ingenious  brain,  which  sends  the  young  lady  into 
shrieks  of  laughter,  and  she  cries  out:  "Brava!  With 
pleasure!  This  is  a  comedy!  " 

"That  will  be  perhaps  a  tragedy,"  replies  De  Mon- 
crief. 

"Yes,  everythingin  its  turn,"  laughs  Madame  Hilda; 
next  says  significantly:  " This  evening  I  am  at  Mon- 
sieur's orders." 

' '  Then  remember — AT  TWELVE  O'CLOCK  ! "  remarks  Le 
Procureur  impressively  as  he  rises  to  go. 

' '  At  twelve  o'clock !  I  see  we  shall  be  great  friends, " 
she  says,  taking  his  hand,  "you  and  I!  " 

"More,  I  hope!"  replies  De  Moncrief  suggestively. 
"  Then  adieu  for  the  present,"  says  Hilda. 

But  as  he  is  leaving  she  gives  him  such  alluring 
glances,  such  little  cries  of  "Brava  conspirator!" 
"Thanks  for  to-night's  comedy!"  such  a  merry  step 
or  two  of  the  dashing  sarabande  that  her  abandon, 
elan,  and  general  infernal  fascination  makes  this  sinner's 
old  eyesroll  as  he  mutters  to  himself:  "  I  never  envied 
a  prince  of  the  blood  before — but  now  I  would  give 
my  soul  to  be  Monsieur  le  Due  d'Orleans!  " 

For  the  archness,  the  fascination,  the  vivacity — aye, 
even  the  very  passion  of  the  girl,  was  contagious. 
And  during  their  interview  she  had  shown  such  loveli- 
ness, such  esprit,  that  Monsieur  le  Procureur  was,  for 
the  time  being,  out  of  his  head. 


•    A     PRINCKSS     OF     PARIS.  135 

However,  Cousin  Charlie  does  not  let  his  semi-insanity 
interfere  with  present  business,  and  he  drives  back  i'<> 
the  great  hotel  of  the  Prince  de  Conti,  and  there,  seeing 
this  gentleman,  explains  his  little  plan  to  him,  remark- 
ing: "If  we  carry  her  away  ourselves,  D'Orleans  will 
never  forgive  us  for  having  kept  his  mouth  watering  so 
long — even  though  we  restore  her  to  him  afterwards!  " 

"  Sapristi !  how  will  the  Duke  know?"  growls 
De  Conti. 

"  He  knows  already,  or  why  did  he  use  your  liveries 
and  crest  in  his  attempted  abduction  yesterday  ?  Now, 
by  my  plan,  the  blame  of  the  young  lady's  elopement 
will  fall  all  upon  my  cousin,  the  Comte  d'Arnac!" 

"  Parbleu !  I  believe  you  are  right!"  mutters  the 
Prince. 

"Then  give  the  orders  as  I  request." 

"With  pleasure!  "  cries  the  Prince  of  the  blood,  and 
calls  in  again  the  gentleman  who  directs  his  bullies  and 
his  bravos,  changing  certain  orders  that  he  has  given 
him;  then  he  chuckles  savagely  to  himself:  "This  will 
teach  young  D'Arnac  to  put  his  finger  into  De  Conti's 
pie!  " 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  ELOPEMENT  FROM  DES  CAPUCINES. 

THE  OBJECT  of  these  sinister  designs  on  leaving  the 
office  of  Cousin  Charlie  has  hurried  back  with  his  news 
to  his  sister,  and  told  his  story  to  her. 

Then  she  has  disconcerted  him,  for  she  has  thrown 
cold  water  on  his  romantic  plans  with  regard  to  the 
rescue  of  his  friend's  wife. 

"You  have  seen  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  again," 
Raymond  says,  "as  you  promised  ?  " 

"No;  I  tried  to,  incidentally,  but  for  some  reason  or 
other,  could  not  obtain  an  interview  without  forcing 
one,  which  I  thought  was  unwise.  What  you  have 
discovered  proves  the  wisdom  of  my  course.  Cousin 
Charlie's  advice,  as  your  lawyer,  is  what  you  should 
follow.  There  is  some  court  intrigue — something  that 
most  unscrupulous  and  wretched  reprobate — the  Prince 


136  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

de  Conti — is  engaged  in — in  regard  to  her.  Yes,  I  will 
call  him  a  worthless  reprobate,  though  he  is  a  prince  of 
the  blood,"  cries  Mimi,  with  feminine  vindictiveness, 
to  her  brother's  deprecating  hand.  "Something  that 
may  be  fatal  to  your  career  and  success  in  life  to 
encounter!  You  may  make  great  enemies — powerful 
at  the  court — potent  in  the  army.  Promise  me,  my 
brother,  you  will  let  this  affair  drop.  If  your  friend 
O'Brien  Dillon  wants  his  wife  let  him  come  and  get 
her.  You  only  promised  him  to  deliver  a  note  to 
her.  Give  it  to  me  and  I  will  see  that  she  gets  it." 

"What  good  will  that  do  him  when  there  is  a  plot 
now  against  his  honor — when  they  have  already 
attempted  to  abduct  her  ?  " 

"But  she  may  have  been  cognizant  of  it,"  replies 
Mimi,  "and  willing  the  abduction  should  take  place." 

"What  nonsense!  You  yourself  said  the  mother 
superior  told  you  O'Brien  Dillon's  wife  knew  nothing 
of  it.  There  is  only  one  safe  place  for  her — under  the 
protection  of  her  husband.  And  that  is  where  I'm 
going  to  place  her,"  replies  D'Arnac,  growing  sulky 
under  Mimi's  objections. 

"  That  you  must  not  do,"  urges  Madame  de  Chateau- 
brien.  Then  she  says  contemplatively:  "The  beauty 
of  this  woman — I  won't  call  her  child,  though  she  is  in 
a  convent  school — is  of  the  kind  that  would  not  make 
her  a  good  wife.  I  can  tell  from  her  manner  she  has 
ambitions  beyond  being  the  spouse  of  a  poor  Irish 
colonel.  That  she  means  her  beauty  to  be  her  stepping 
stone  in  life  to  some  high  rank  or  position ;  that 
her  loveliness  is  to  be  for  one  of  the  princes  of  the 
earth." 

"Her  beauty-shall  be  for  her  husband,  to  whom  it 
belongs,"  cries  D'Arnac.  "But  since  you  will  not  aid 
me 

He  rises  to  go,  but  Mimi's  arms  are  round  him 
entreating  him — begging  him.  She  knows  the  reckless 
disregard  of  all  rights  of  God  or  of  any  man,  that  he 
does  not  fear  of  the  Prince  de  Conti.  It  frightens  her. 

To  her  entreaties  and  almost  tears,  Raymond 
unwillingly  promises  to  turn  the  matter  over  in  his 
mind  for  a  day  or  two. 

"Then  it  is  a  promise,"  reiterates  the  sister. 


A     PRINCK>S     OK     PARIS.  137 

"  Of  course!  "  answers  the  brother. 

"  Very  well !  "  she  replies.  "  Don't  forget  it — as  you 
love  me,  don't  forget  it." 

"Now  go  and  have  a  pleasant  evening  with  some  of 
your  friends  of  the  Garde,  and  think  no  more  about  this, " 
suggests  Mimi,  whose  two  years  greater  age  has  given 
her  a  motherly  as  well  as  sisterly  regard  for  her  dashing 
and  handsome  young  brother. 

So  with  this  promise  on  his  lips,  Raymond  d'Arnac 
sallies  from  the  Hotel  de  Chateaubrien,  and  pushes  his 
way  through  the  crowd  on  the  Pont  Neuf  going  toward 
the  Hotel  de  Crevecceur  on  the  Rue  St.  Andre,  where 
he  has  taken  his  quarters  with  his  aunt. 

In  this  concourse  of  hucksters,  beggars,  hackdrivers 
and  peddlers,  mixed  with  the  carriages  of  the  nobility, 
.and  some  old  ladies'  sedan  chairs,  that  have  not  as  yet 
entirely  gone  out  of  fashion,  Raymond  jostles  his  way 
with  that  careless  ease  peculiar  to  le  jeune  militaire,  and 
chancing  to  push  past  a  couple  of  Italian  retainers  of 
the  Prince  de  Conti,  one  of  them  whispers  to  the  other  : 
"That's  the  man!  Don't  forget  his  face  for  to-night!  " 

"  I  have  him !     I  remember  him !  "  is  the  reply. 

But  this  is  in  Italian,  a  language  D'Arnac  does  not 
understand,  and  he  proceeds  on  his  way  with  all  the 
unconcern  of  a  young  man  who  has  thrown,  for  the  time 
being,  a  weighty  matter  off  his  mind,  thinking  he  will 
hunt  up  De  Soubise  and  De  Rohan,  and  one  or  two 
other  young  blades,  and  make  an  evening  of  it. 

But  at  the  very  entrance  of  the  Hotel  de  Crevecceur 
he  is  stopped  by  Cousin  Charlie  coming  out. 

"I've  been  here  to  see  you,"  replies  De  Moncrief  to 
Raymond's  greeting.  "I  came  in  person  to  tell 
you  I  have  just  made  a  wonderful  discovery  with  regard 
to  that  villain,  the  Prince  de  Conti!  " 

"  In  reference  to  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  ? "  says  Ray- 
mond, hurriedly. 

"Yes.  Do  you  know  that  unscrupulous  Prince  is 
about  to  remove  her  from  the  convent  this  evening?" 

"Why?" 

"  Why  ?  Herause  In-  fears  the  Due  d'Orleans  will  get 
hold  of  her.  He  doesn't  propose  to  have  Monseigiieur 
Philippe  interfering  with  his  pri/e.  He  has  obtained  an 
order  from  that  old  fool,  Poisson,  to  that  effect.  This 


138  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

will  be  your  only  chance  to  conduct  Madame  O'Brien 
Dillon  to  her  husband  in  Vienna!  " 

"Why  my  only  chance  ?  " 

"Because  how  could  you  get  her  from  the  convent 
Des  Capucines  without  scaling  its  walls,  and  carrying 
her  off  by  force — even  if  she  remain  there  ?  But  if  you 
have  a  carriage  and  postilions  and  horses  immediately 
behind  that  of  the  Prince  de  Conti,  at  the  door  of  the 
convent  at  twelve  o'clock  to-night,  when  they  bring  her 
out  to  deliver  her  to  him,  you  have  a  quick  wit  and 
ready  sword.  Why  not  pluck  her  right  out  of  his  arms, 
into  your  coach,  and  presto!  away  for  Vienna!  That 
would  be  an  exploit  worthy  of  your  friend,  O'Brien 
Dillon — what  he  would  do  for  you!  " 

"  And  if  I  do  not  move  to-night  ? " 

"You  will  never  have  a  chance  to  move  in  the  matter 
again!  I  do  not  advise  your  doing  it,  that 
must  be  your  own  decision;  but  I  could  not  refrain  from 
telling  you  what  I  have  discovered!  " 

' '  And  how  did  you  learn  it  ?  " 

"From  two  ruffians  of  the  Prince  de  Conti  that  I 
bribed.  I  understand  Italian.  I  accidentally  over- 
heard a  few  words  from  them  in  the  street,  and  one 
hundred  crowns  .increased  their  frankness.  These  fellows 
will  sell  themselves  for  anything." 

"Very  well!  here's  your  hundred  crowns!  "  remarks 
Raymond,  and  astonishes  De  Moncrief  by  placing  the 
money  in  his  hand. 

"  What  have  you  determined  to  do  ?  " 

"Nothing!" 

"Nothing?" 

"  NOTHING  !  I  shall  simply  think  it  over,  but  I'm  very 
much  obliged  to  you.  Now  I  must  dress  for 
the  evening.  I  hope  to  have  De  Soubise  and  De 
Rohan  to  dinner  with  me.  Won't  you  make  one  of 
the  party  ? " 

"  No,  I  have  an  engagement!  "  mutters  the  Procureur 
with  a  little  sigh,  and  goes  away  with  disappointment 
in  his  heart  to  take  his  solitary  dinner  and  commune 
with  himself  on  the  misadventure  that  he  thinks  has 
come  upon  his  plans. 

But  at  the  close  of  his  meal  he  hurriedly  jumps  from 
the  table,  for  in  his  occult  mind  has  suddenly  sprung 


A     1'RINCKSS     n|       PARIS.  139 

up  this  idea:  "  Raymond  is  twenty!  Youth  changes  its 
views  quickly!  He  said  he  would  consider  my  suggestion. 
I'll  see  if  he's  at  dinner  with  De  Soubi- 

And  he  walks  off  hurriedly  to  the  Armenian  Cafe  in  the 
Foire  Saint  Germain  to  discover  that  De  Rohan  and 
De  Soubiseare  both  at  dirmer  there,  and  have  not  seen 
young  D'Arnac. 

"  Egad  !  he's  changed  his  mind — I'll  have  him  yet !" 
chuckles  De  Moncrief,  and  directs  his  way  to  the  Hotel 
de  Crevecceur. 

Here,  being  shown  in,  he  is  shortly  received  by 
Clothilde,  who  says  to  him  hurriedly:  "We  have  such 
bad  news  !  Raymond  is  going  away  this  evening  !  " 

"  Raymond  going — aha  !  "  a  sigh  of  rapture. 

"Yes,  he  follows  his  sister  to  Melun.  She  has 
received,  by  courier,  news  that  her  husband  on  his 
way  from  the  Rhone,  has  fallen  seriously  ill  there.  She 
has  already  gone — Raymond  follows  after.  Why,  your 
face  is  white  !  I  did  not  know  Monsieur  de  Chateau- 
brien  was  so  dear  to  you  !  " 

For  De  Moncrief's  visage  has  grown  pale  with  disap- 
pointment, as  he  thinks  D'Arnac  will  take  post  to 
Melun  to  be  by  his  sister's  side,  and  that  is  an  end  of 
his  scheme  against  him  for  the  present. 

A  moment  after  he  makes  his  adieu  to  Clothilde 
who  overwhelms  him  with  condolences  at  his  sorrow  at 
the  unfortunate  affair. 

But  as  he  passes  out  of  the  Hotel  de  Crevecceur,  he 
is  jostled  by  Raymond's  servant. 

"Pardon,  Monsieur  de  Moncrief,"  says  the  servitor, 
"  but  I  am  going  in  advance  of  Monsieur  d'Arnac  to 
order  post  horses  along  the  road." 

"Ah,  yes,  to  Melun  !"  mutters  Le  Procureur surlily. 

"No." 

"Where?" 

"To  Claye,  Mieux,  Changis.   We're  to  travel  quick." 

"Well,  be  careful  and  order  good  horses,  and  \vi*h 
your  master  a  pleasant  journey  for  me  !  "  says  De 
Moncrief,  with  such  a  sudden  change  in  his  voice  that 
the  lackey  departs  on  his  errand  astonished. 

For  joy  has  come  to  the  Procureur  du  Roy  !  "Claye, 
Mieux,  Changis  ?  that,  the  road  to  Melun  ?  That's  the 
road  to  Strassburg,  the  Rhine  and  Austria  !"  rlmrkles 


14°  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

the  old  gentleman  to  himself,  for  he  now  knows  that 
his  cousin  has  changed  his  mind,  and  is  going  to 
attempt  the  restoration  of  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  to 
her  husband  in  Vienna. 

So  he  goes  off  carefully  repeating  the  route  to  himself, 
and  getting  to  the  great  hotel  of  De  Conti,  tells  that 
prince  just  where  he  can  waylay  his  cousin  on  his 
journey  to  Strassburg. 

In  this  he  guesses  right.  Raymond,  turning  the 
matter  over,  had  flown-  to  Mimi,  not  only  to  ask  her 
advice,  but  to  be  relieved  of  his  promise.  At  the 
Hotel  de  Chateaubrien,  however,  he  had  found  that 
Madame  la  Marquise  having  suddenly  received  word  by 
courier  that  her  husband  was  desperately  sick  at  Melun, 
on  his  return  journey  from  Southern  France,  had  ordered 
post  horses  at  once,  and  was  now  on  her  way  to  the 
side  of  Monsieur  de  Chateaubrien. 

"If  I  do  not  act  to-night,"  cogitates  this  reckless 
young  gentleman,  "  perchance  my  comrade's  wife  is  lost 
to  him.  How  can  I  look  him  in  the  face,  if  I  could 
have  saved  her,  and  would  not  ?  " 

Filled  with  this  generous  idea,  Raymond  had  returned 
to  the  Hotel  de  Crevecceur,  told  the  news  to  his  aunt  of 
Monsieur  de  Chateaubrien 's  sickness,  and  said  he  was 
going  away  for  some  time,  she  naturally  mistaking  his 
destination  for  the  side  of  his  sister's  sick  husband. 

So  it  comes  to  pass  that  ten  minutes  before  the 
clock  of  distant  Notre  Dame  strikes  twelve,  Raymond 
d'Arnac  drives  from  the  Rue  St.  Honore'  into  the  Place 
Louis  le  Grand,  now  shrouded  in  darkness,  for  its  few 
oil  lamps  have  been  extinguished,  and  keeping  the  big 
statue  of  Louis  XIV.  between  his  carriage  and  the 
convent,  drives  straight  across  the  open  square  towards 
the  portals  of  Des  Capucines,  which  stands  opposite, 
where  he  sees  another  coach  already  waiting,  and 
knows  the  information  the  Procureur  has  given  him  is 
correct. 

He  whispers  to  his  coachman  and  the  two  lackeys 
who  are  with  him:  "  Don't  move  till  you  see  the  door 
open  and  the  lady  brought  out!  " 

"Ah,  trust  us,  Mr.  Wild  Blood,"  answers  the  driver. 
Then  one  of  the  other  men  mutters:  "  The  desecra- 
tion of  a  convent!  "  and  crosses  himself. 


A     PRINCES 


141 


A  moment  after,  the  coachman  gasps:  "Good 
God!  what  will  D'Argenson  do  with  us?"  For  the 
police  had  a  very  nasty  way,  at  that  time,  of  punishing 
valets  and  underlings  for  the  crimes  of  their  noble 
masters  and  mistresses. 

"They  can't  catch  you  till  you  have  squandered  the 
two  hundred  crowns  I  have  promised  you !  You  can 
hear  me  clink  them  in  this  bag!  "  whispers  Raymond, 
anxiously. 

This  sound  of  silver  vanquishes  fear  of  the  Church 
and  terror  of  the  police.  The  lackeys  prepare 
to  do  his  bidding,  though  in  rather  a  half-hearted 
manner. 

"  You  saw  some  one  go  into  the  convent  ?  The  door 
opened  as  we  passed  the  corner  ?  "  asks  D'Arnac. 

"Yes!  "  replies  the  coachman. 

"Then  when  the  door  opens  again,  it's  for  them  to 
come  out!  Move  quick  when  I  speak!  " 

So  they  wait  there  for  nearly  ten  minutes,  shrouded 
in  the  shadow  of  the  great  equestrian  statue  of  Louis 
XIV.  that  holds  the  middle  of  the  place. 

Then  the  portals  of  Des  Capucines  open,  a  faint 
light  shows  upon  the  street,  and  a  lady,  assisted  by  a 
gentleman,  comes  down  the  steps. 

"Now!"  whispers  Raymond. 

The  coachman  drives  rapidly  up,  running  into  the 
coach  standing  in  front  of  the  convent,  into  which 
the  gentleman  has  just  assisted  the  lady. 

As  he  passes  her  in  at  one  door  of  the  carriage, 
Raymond  opens  the  other,  pulls  her,  with  his  strong 
arms,  out  of  the  De  Gonti  coach,  and  swings  her  into 
his  own. 

Then  as  the  gentleman,  with  an  oath  of  astonish- 
ment, attempts  to  follow,  D'Arnac's  sword  is  at 
his  breast,  and  he  whispers:  "Back,  meddler,  or 
you  die!" 

A  second  after  he  has  sprung  into  his  carriage,  which 
is  driving  rapidly  away,  while  a  faint  but  lovely  voice  is 
saying:  "Help! — mercy! — spare  me!"  though  could 
he  see  it  the  lady  has  stuffed  her  kerchief  into  her  mouth 
to  keep  from  giggling. 

But  Raymond  reassures  her  by  saying  in  his  noblest 
tones:  "Madame,  have  no  fear!  I,  the  comrade  of 


142  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

your    husband,    O'Brien    Dillon,    am     taking    you    to 
Vienna,  to  place  you  in  his  arms!  " 

Then  the  lady  astonishes  him  by  sobbing:  "Thank 
God !  At  last  I  shall  see  my  gallant  Irish  husband ! — 
Noble  D'Arnac,  you  are  my  only  trust!  "  and  a  pair  of 
the  softest,  roundest,  loveliest  arms  in  the  world  clasp 
themselves  about  his  neck  and  a  delicate  head  with  hair 
of  softest  perfumed  locks  seeks  protection  on  his  bosom 
and  makes  his  twenty-year  heart  beat  wild  and  furious. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE- SIREN'S  SONG. 

So  HE  goes  to  soothing  her  fears  and  tremblings; 
doing  so  in  the  wild  way  of  youth,  patting  her  pretty 
hands,  stroking  her  soft  hair,  and  telling  her  that  he 
will  protect  her  as  faithfully  as  if  her  husband  himself 
were  by  her  side,  for  up  to  that  time  Raymond  had  only 
seen  her  wondrous  beauty  as  in  the  miniature — to  it  had 
not  been  added  the  marvelous  fascinations  of  her  eyes 
nor  the  fairy  graces  of  her  person. 

But  he  has  not  much  time  for  his  tender  attentions, 
as  the  people  in  the  other  carriage  are  now  making 
a  great  show  of  hot  pursuit. 

His  coachman  calls  for  advice,  and  he  directs  him 
still  to  keep  to  the  north,  and  go  out  of  Paris  in 
that  way.  They  can  make  better  time  through  the  half 
rural  lanes  they  are  now  coming  into  than  in  the  narrow 
streets  of  the  city  proper. 

Urging  the  horses  to  their  full  speed,  they  fly  round 
the  corner  into  the  Rue  Louis  le  Grand,  then  into  the 
Neuve  St.  Angus  and  the  Rue  Faideu,  next  a  quick  turn 
into  the  Rue  Montmartre,  and  at  last,  distancing  their 
pursuers,  they  see  and  hear  the  carriage  behind  them  no 
more. 

A  moment  after  they  are  in  Le  Cours  with  its  great 
avenues  of  trees. 

Here  Raymond  directs  his  coachman  to  turn  towards 
the  east,  and  they  journey  along  this  new  great  drive- 
way practically  going  over  the  ground  on  which  to-day 
stand  the  grand  boulevards  of  modern  Paris.  So  jour- 


A     rkl\(  1->S     OF     PARIS.  143 

neying  around  the  northern  portion  of  the  city  of  that 
day  they  come  out  into  the  country  by  the  Porte  du 
Temple,  and  still  keeping  to  the  north,  past  La  Cour- 
tille,  after  a  little  they  turn  into  a  cross  lane  and' at  last 
reach  the  main  road  leading  to  Claye,  a  little  town  some 
twelve  miles  distant  to  the  east. 

Driving  still  with  whip  and  spur,  at  last  its  houses 
come  in  sight,  and  they  draw  up  at  the  post-house. 
But  their  enforced  detour  has  delayed  them,  and  it  is 
now  three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

During  this  journey,  occupied  by  precautions  to  prevent 
pursuit,  and  in  giving  directions  to  his  coachman  and 
lackeys,  Raymond  has  been  unable  to  pay  anything  but 
desultory  attention  to  his  fair  companion. 

Part  of  the  time  he  has  been  on  the  seat  beside  the 
driver,  with  both  pistols  ready,  as  the  road  has  passed 
through  the  forest  of  Bondy,  at  that  time  notorious  for 
its  foot-pads,  highwaymen  and  bandits. 

Fortunately  Raymond  has  been  relieved  of  any  great 
amount  of  trouble  on  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon's  account, 
for  after  the  first  quarter  of  an  hour  the  young  lady  had 
settled  herself  very  comfortably  in  a  corner  of  the 
carriage,  and  made  warm  by  the  robes  her  companion 
put  about  her,  had  gone  very  contentedly  to  sleep. 

As  the  carriage  stops,  she  wakes  up  suddenly,  gives  a 
little  start  of  surprise,  and  cries:  "We  are  halted!  Are 
we  pursued  and  overtaken  ? "  clutching  the  arm  of  her 
protector  in  a  feminine  timidity  enchanting  in  its 
appealing  helplessness. 

"No,  only  the  first  post-house!  Now  to  give  you 
some  refreshment  while  we  change  horses!  *'  And  lifting 
her  lightly  out  of  the  coach,  Raymond  assists  her  into 
the  auberge,  which  in  the  darkness  seems  a  comfortable 
though  unpretentious  hostelry. 

Here  they  are  received  by  the  mistress,  who  is  standing 
at  the  door,  saying:  "We  expected  you!  Your  courier 
has  given  directions.  The  horses  will  be  ready  soon!' 

A  bright-looking  young  maid  servant  who  gazes  with 
wide  open  eyes  at  the  officer  and  his  graceful  companion 
is  behind  her. 

A  moment  later  they  are  in  the  main  apartment  of 
the  place,  which  apparently  does  duty  a>  a  siting  and 
eating  room  combined.  A  few  tallow  dips  are  lighted, 


144  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

and  logs  burning  brightly  in  the  large  open  fire-place 
add  to  the  illumination. 

Then  for  the  first  time  Raymond  d'Arnac  truly  sees 
the  loveliness  of  the  lady  who  has  ridden  beside  him 
for  the  last  three  hours.  He  expected  beauty — wondrous 
— immense.  He  gets  it — but  also  arch  glances  from 
enchanting  eyes — piquant  gestures  from  graceful  arms, 
tender  words  from  lips  carved  out  of  coral,  and  the 
fascination  of  seeing  a  loveliness  but  before  imagined; 
embodied,  living,  breathing,  moving  under  his  very  eyes. 

Her  very  beauty  embarrasses  him;  he  stammers,  as 
she  seats  herself  in  alluring  pose :  ' '  You — you  are  not 
afraid?" 

"Afraid  ? — no!  "  The  blue  eyes  open  wide  in  inno- 
cent astonishment,  as  she  returns,  adding  subtle  flattery 
to  her  other  fascinations:  "Are  you  not  the  hero  of 
Friburg  ? " 

Then  Raymond  calls  to  the  post-mistress  who  has 
been  looking  on,  and  orders :  ' '  Refreshments,  quick !  " 

"What  does  Monsieur  wish  ?  " 

"Everything  in  the  house  that  can  make  this  lady 
comfortable! " 

And  the  woman  going  off  on  her  errand,  he  turns  to 
Hilda,  standing  very  much  as  a  young  knight  might 
have  done  in  the  days  of  chivalry,  and  bowing  with  the 
punctilio  of  the  old  school,  says:  "Madame  O'Brien 
Dillon,  for  this  journey  I  am,  in  duty  to  my  comrade, 
your  husband — your  protector!  It  shall  be  made  with 
every  care  of  your  personal  comfort  that  is  consistent 
with  safety.  As  your  escort,  I  shall  ride  beside  your 
carriage  to  Mieux,  where  by  the  blessing  of  God,  I 
hope  we  may  be  early  this  morning.  There  my  courier, 
who  is  traveling  in  advance,  will  have  provided  for  you 
a  suitable  attendant  and  maid.  You  shall  journey  to 
Vienna  like  a  princess!  " 

"Then,  like  a  princess,  I  give  you  my  hand  to  make 
salutation !  "  laughs  the  young  lady. 

Kissing  her  pretty  fingers  after  the  ceremonious 
manner  of  that  time,  Raymond  d'Arnac  feels  something 
that  is  more  than  chivalry  in  his  veins,  for  his  glance 
for  the  first  time  meets  hers — eye  to  eye. 

A  moment  after,  as  if  brushing  away  some  insect  that 
had  stung  him,  he  passes  his  hand  hurriedly  over  his 


\      PRINCESS     OK      PARIS.  145 

forehead,  then  mutters:  "I — must  see  to  the  horses. 
The  mistress  of  the  inn  will  bring  you  refreshments  in 
a  moment." 

"Won't  you  stay  and  share  them  ?  " 

"  No,  I — I  am  not  hungry.  Besides,  these  lazy  post- 
boys need  looking  after!  "  Then,  after  a  second's  hesi- 
tation, perchance  even  a  pang,  he  mutters:  "This 
letter  I  promised  to  deliver  into  your  hands,"  and 
produces  the  missive  with  which  O'Brien  Dillon  had 
charged  him. 

"  From  my  husband  ?  " 

"Yes!" 

And  thrusting  the  letter  into  her  hand,  he  strides 
out,  leaving  her  gazing  into  the  firelight,  in  which 
she  sees  a  handsome  figure,  short  curly  hair,  dark, 
expressive,  noble  eyes,  and  drooping  moustache  a  la 
militaire,  and  these  together  make  the  dashing  Colonel, 
the  Comte  d'Arnac. 

She  mutters  to  herself:  "He  is  very  handsome!  I 
wonder  if  he  is  as  great  a  fighter  as  they  say!" 
A  second  after  she  laughs:  "  Perhaps  this  morning  will 
show  me!" — the  letter  of  O'Brien  Dillon  still  lying 
unopened  near  her  hand. 

Then,  the  hostess  coming  in,  Madame  Hilda  refreshes 
her  dainty  self  with  the  best  there  is  in  the  house. 

As  she  finishes  her  repast,  her  eye  catching  the  letter, 
she  opens  it,  reads  it  very  carefully,  and  her  red  lips 
murmur:  "Wheugh!  This  wild  Irishman  loves  me — TOO 
MUCH!"  Next  mutters:  "' He  would  be  jealous  of  his 
honor ! '  He  must  cross  my  path  no  more. '  "  then  laughs : 
"Adieu,  cher  O'Brien!" 

So,  having  bid  her  husband  mentally  eternal  good-bye, 
Madame  Hilda  sighs  discontentedly  for  another  adorer, 
murmuring:  "That  handsome  boy  is  very  long  away 
from  me." 

As  in  truth  Raymond  is,  for  the  stablemen  seem 
unusually  sleepy  and  stupid,  the  horses  have  not  been 
harnessed  in  advance,  and  were  it  not  that  the  young 
officer  himself,  assisted  by  his  lackeys,  handled  strap 
and  buckle,  it  would  be  morning  before  they  are  ready- 
to  proceed. 

As  this  is  finished  and  D'Arnac  turns  to  enter  the 
inn,  he  is  met  at  the  door  by  the  maid  servant  with 


146  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

the  bright  eyes.  She  puts  a  warning  finger  to  her  lips, 
and  whispers:  "  Hush!  I  have  something  for  your  ear, 
my  gallant.  I  always  like  to  assist  elopements.  Six 
men  passed  here  after  your  servant  had  left.  They 
took  the  horses  already  harnessed  for  you.  They  went 
on  towards  Mieux. " 

"Mafoi!  They  could  not  have  been  pursuing  me!" 
laughs  Raymond. 

"No?  Still  I  think  they  meant  you  evil !"  whimpers 
the  girl. 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  heard  them  mention  your  name.  You 
are  Monsieur  le  Comte  d'Arnac — the  hero  of  Friburg, 
of  whom  everybody  has  spoken  so  much." 

"  Sapristi !  Thanks,  my  little  bright  eyes,"  says 
Raymond,  pressing  a  louis  d  'or  into  her  hand. 

Then  the  young  man's  brow  becomes  troubled.  He 
cannot  understand  how  anybody  hostile  to  his  journey 
can  be  ahead  of  him.  His  sudden  assault  seemed 
such  a  surprise  to  the  men  in  the  De  Conti  carriage! 
' '  But  for  all  that, "  he  thinks,  ' '  I'll  take  my  precautions. 
To  do  this  I'll  ride  ahead  of  my  charge." 

A  moment  later  and  he  has  brought  Hilda  out  of  the 
inn,  and  has  put  her  in  the  coach.  His  horse,  already 
saddled,  is  being  held  by  one  of  his  servants  for  him 
to  mount. 

Hilda  suddenly  cries:    "You  are  going  to  ride  ?  " 

"Yes,  beside  your  carriage!  " 

"  But  it  will  fatigue  you  too  much !  " 

"On  the  contrary,  a  little  horse  exercise  will  refresh 
me !  " 

"Very  well!  But  before  we  get  to  Mieux,  promise 
me  your  company  for  half  an  hour.  I  have  a  few 
important  things  to  say  to  you." 

"As  you  wish!  "  mutters  the  young  man. 

"Then  in  the  morning,"  says  the  girl,  "  we  ride 
together." 

The  "together"  thrills  him,  for  it  is  the  word  of 
O'Brien  Dillon.  The  word  he  had  spoken  as  he  bid 
him  adieu — the  word  he  had  muttered  when  their  hands 
clasped,  before  Raymond  had  crawled  through  the 
mine  at  the  Bastion  of  St.  Peter  to  save  the  regiment 
of  Dillon. 


A     l'KINU.»     i)|       I'AKIS.  147 

The  young  man  thinks  of  all  this  as  he  gallops  beside 
the  coach,  and  curiously  enough  it  frightens  him,  for 
he  also  thinks  of  the  wondrous  loveliness  that  is  here  in 
his  keeping — that  must  be  in  his  keeping  until  she 
reaches  Vienna,  and  sighs:  "  I  would  the  journey  were 
shorter!  " 

But  present  action  drives  out  introspection.  They 
have  come  to  a  little  lane  that  leads  towards  the  south 
off  the  main  road  to  Mieux.  He  hurriedly  tells  his 
postilions  to  take  this  route,  reasoning  that  if  there  is 
danger  ahead  of  him  he  will  avoid  it  in  the  by-lanes  of 
the  country,  and  by  making  a  slight  detour,  reach 
Mieux  without  molestation,  even  if  there  are  people  in 
advance,  looking  out  to  waylay  him. 

So  they  ride  on  through  country  by-ways  from  which 
the  snow  has  just  departed,  bordered  by  trees  which  are 
now  taking  on  the  leaves  of  spring. 

Birds  are  beginning  to  sing  their  morning  songs,  and 
the  sun's  first  rays  are  just  tinging  the  horizon,  when  a 
white  hand  is  waved  to  him  from  the  coach,  and  the  limpid 
voice  of  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  cries  in  coaxing  tones: 
"Come!  your  promise.  Dismount  your  horse  and  sit 
in  the  coach  by  my  side.  I  have  a  few  questions  to  ask 
you,  and  some  little  information  to  give." 

Raymond  cannot  resist  the  bright  eyes  and  entreating 
voice.  He  gazes  hastily  about.  It  will  soon  be  full  day- 
light, Mieux  is  even  now  in  sight,  the  sun  gilding  its 
distant  steeples;  there  is  small  chance  of  danger. 

Springing  lightly  from  his  horse,  he  gives  its  bridle  to 
one  of  the  postilions  to  lead  by  the  side  of  the  equi- 
page, and  jumping  into  the  coach,  takes  seat  by  his 
charge,  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  the  siren  singing  the 
song  of  innocence.  For  never  was  there  such  piquant 
candor  and  such  enchanting  artlessness  brought 
together  to  make  a  young  man's  eyes  grow  brighter  and 
his  heart  beat  faster. 

As  he  takes  seat  beside  Hilda  the  sun  falls  upon 
her  face  fresh,  even  after  this  night's  travel,  as  a  morn- 
ing daisy,  and  illuminates  the  outlines  of  a  figure  girlish 
as  that  of  Hebe,  though  rounded  contours  tell  him  it  is 
also  that  of  Venus. 

No  longer  in  the  convent  costume,  some  light  travel- 
ing dress  falls  about  her  and  makes  her  ethereal  from 


148  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

the  point  of  her  tiny  boot  to  the  glossy  golden  tresses 
of  her  head,  patrician  in  its  delicate  beauty  and  graceful 
pose  on  the  white  gleaming  column  that  is  her  neck. 

"Behold  me,"  she  says  coquettishly.  Then,  having 
caught  his  eye,  she  whispers:  "  Do  I  look  guilty  ?  " 

"Guilty?  "  stammers  Raymond.  "You!"  Then  he 
cries:  "  Not  if  eyes  show  souls!  " 

"  And  yet, 'Lshe  goes  on  pathetically,  "  my  husband's 
letter  hints  as  much.  As  his  friend,  tell  me  what 
dear  O'Brien  thinks  about  me  ?  He  must  have  said 
something  to  you  about  my  enforced  flight  from  him 
that  awful  night  at  Valenciennes." 

This  Raymond  does  not  answer.  He  will  not  tell 
this  lovely  being  that  her  husband  in  his  wild  pangs  of 
jealousy  had  ever  cried  out  against  her  faith  to  him. 

"  Ah,  he  has  doubted  or  you  would  speak!  "  she  says 
indignantly.  "Now,  I  must  tell  you  the  truth."  Then 
she  sighs:  "Though  O'Brien  may  still  suspect  me, 
you  shall  believe  me  innocent.  I  could  not  bear  to  be 
doubted  by  you .'  "  blending  subtle  caress  of  accent 
with  appealing  hands  that  seem  so  white  and  gleaming  in 
their  graceful  movements. 

With  this  she  goes  on,  speaking  rapidly ;  bright  eyes 
and  vivid  gestures  acting  the  story  her  limpid  voice 
relates : 

"That  night — it  had  been  such  a  happy  day  we  had 
passed  together  in  the  old  town — it  had  been  such  a 
lovely  evening — as  we  dined  together  in  Monsieur  Law's 
little  chateau!  And  then  to  be  torn  from  him — my 
husband!  Is  he  not  handsome — and  what  a  fighter! 
You  have  seen  him  fight  as  I  have!  " 

"  I  have  had  the  honor  of  fighting  by  his  side," 
replies  Raymond  proudly. 

"Ah,  yes,  and  gained  equal  glory  with  him.  What  a 
Paladin  you  must  be  also!  " 

Her  blue  eyes  have  in  them  admiration  that  is  very 
pleasant  to  this  young  gentleman. 

"  But  Dillon's  servant  says  he  was  betrayed  to  the 
Austrians  !  "  answers  D'Arnac,  though  his  tones  say  he 
thinks  her  innocent. 

"Yes,  but  not  by  me  !  "  cries  the  girl.  "That  was 
Law's  plan,  the  man  who  calls  himself  my  uncle,  but 
who  is  really  my  guardian.  The  man  who  was  under 


A     PRIXCKSS     (U        PARIS.  149 

the  assumed  name  of  Lauriston,  but  whose  real  name  is 
Law,  though  the  French  here  call  him  Lass.  But  I  did 
not  know  it  !  As  God  is  above  me,  when  I  went  out 
that  evening,  I  thought  the  scratching  on  the  window 
was  that  of  my  pet  dog".  As  I  opened  the  door  I  found 
myself  in  the  very  hands  of  the  Austrians.  They 
whispered  if  I  cried  a  warning,  they  would  shoot  him — 
my  husband — as  he  sat  at  the  table.  And  so  I  stayed 
with  them,  imploring  them — begging  them — praying 
to  them  to  spare  his  life — and  that  delayed  them  long 
enough  for  him  to  escape  !  " 

"So  the  scratching  on  the  window  was  a  signal  !" 
says  Raymond. 

"Yes,  for  my  uncle — my  guardian.  He  had, 
unguessed  by  me,  arranged  the  surprise  with  the 
Austrian  officers.  He  wished,  God  forgive  him  !  to 
put  my  husband  out  of  the  way  !  " 

"Why?" 

"  Because  Dillon  was  my  husband.  Law  had  higher 
views  for  me  than  that  I  should  wed  a  soldier  of  fortune ! " 

"  Higher  views  for  you  ?  " 

"Yes!  why  not? "she  cries.  Then  she  goes  on 
imperiously:  "Is  that  curious  for  the  granddaughter 
of  Count  Teke!i,  called  by  his  countrymen  'the  last 
King  of  Hungary  ! ' ' 

'  4  You,  the  descendant  of  Tekeli ! "  D'Arnac's  eyes  open 
very  wide,  for  that  unfortunate  prince's  adventures  had 
been  the  talk  of  court  and  camp  in  Europe  for  many  a 
day. 

4 'Yes,  when  my  grandfather  fled  before  the  Imperial- 
ists, compelled  to  take  refuge  with  the  Ottomans, 
Monsieur  Law,  who  was  employed  by  him  in  some  plan 
to  raise  funds  for  the  Hungarians,  received  me  as  his 
charge,  and  also  a  sum  of  money  for  my  education  and 
maintenance."  Then  her  eyes  glow  with  beautiful  fire 
and  she  cries:  "  Do  I  look  so  unlike  the  daughter  of  a 
line  of  kings?" 

"  Like  the  daughter  of  the  angels  !  "  replies  the  young 
man  impulsively,  for  Hilda's  plausible  account  of  her 
action  in  O'Brien  Dillon's  surprise  has  made  Raymond 
think  her  not  only  a  marvel  of  beauty  indignant,  but  a 
marvel  of  innocence  accused.  And  to  this  has  been 
added  the  thought  that  in  her  veins  flows  the  blood  of 


15°  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

nobles  and  princes,  making  her  one  of  the  elect  of  this 
earth,  for  at  that  time  there  was  a  wall  high  as  that  of 
China  between  the  azur  sang  of  \hegenttlh0mfae  and  the 
noble,  and  the  baser  clay  of  the  peasant  and  the  bour- 
geoisie. 

"Ah,"  she  says,  "you  believe  me — thank  Heaven  ! 
It  would  have  been  hard  to  have  been  doubted  by  you  !  " 
Her  emphasis  makes  the  "you  "  an  implied  caress. 

D'Arnac'seyes  return  it,  for  struggle  how  he  may  she 
draws  passion  from  him  with  every  whisper  of  her  lips, 
every  glance  of  her  eye.  "I  always  guessed  Lanty 
wasan  idiot,"  he  mutters,  thinking  of  the  fellow's  inven- 
tions that  now  seem  to  him  ridiculous. 

"Oh,  yes  !  Lanty,  the  scatter-brained  valet  of  my 
husband  !  He  said  words  against  me  also,"  she  laughs. 
"But  you  believe " 

' '  And  love !"  the  young  man  thinks  in  his  soul  of  souls. 

But  she  runs  on,  "that  is  enough — youth  and 
faith  are  by  my  side  !  What  a  joyous  journey  to  Vienna 
this  will  be — eh,  Monsieur  Raymond  ! " — FOR  SHE  HAS 

FOR  ONE  MOMENT  FORGOTTEN  THE  PLOT  THAT  IS  TO 
TAKE  HER  FROM  HIS  SIDE: 

To  this  he  answers  nothing.  He  is  dashing  his  curly 
black  hair  back  from  his  brow  that  is  fevered  by  passion 
and  tortured  by  conscience,  and  his  brain  is  pulsing 
with  this  thought :  "I  did  not  know  she  was  so  fascinat- 
ing— so  adorable!  God  help  me  keep  O'Brien's  honor 
and  my  own  ! ' 

They  are  looking  at  each  other.  Heaven  knows  what 
their  eyes  are  saying,  but  it  is  something  that  makes  the 
dark  ones  blaze  and  the  blue  ones  droop  like  dewy  violets 
— when — 

Bang  !     Bang  !  !     BANG  !  !  ! 

Pistol  shots  are  flying  around  !  The  postilions  are 
leaping  from  their  horses  and  scurrying  for  their  lives, 
for  horsemen  are  riding  up  before  and  behind,  with 
Italian  oaths  and  hoarse  shouts:  "Surrender  the  girl — 
or  your  life  !  " 

But  as  all  this  goes  on  about  her,  Hilda  suddenly  gives 
a  stifled  shriek  of  astonishment.  Raymond  has  sprung 
from  the  carriage,  and  is  on  the  back  of  his  horse. 

Then  she  gives  another,  perhaps  louder  scream,  for 
she  is  suddenly  dragged  out  of  the  carriage,  and  with 


A     PRINCESS     OK     PARIS.  151 

one  strong  swing  drawn  up  on  the  saddle  in  front  of 
him,  and  he  is  speeding  along  a  little  country  lane  that 
leaves  the  larger  road. 

For  D'Arnac's  campaign  on  the  Rhine  has  given  him 
military  promptness  of  action,  and  the  girl,  though  she 
remembers  the  plot  to  take  her  from  his  side,  for  the 
life  of  her  cannot  resist  the  potent  charm  of  a  ride  with 
him — in  his  very  arms — and  has  even  sprung  towards 
him,  as  he  has  drawn  her  up  to  his  saddle  bow. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A    FRENCH     LOCHINVAR. 

FOR  one  instant  surprise  stays  their  pursuers.  Then 
the  coach  embarrasses  them  for  the  moment,  for  it  has 
stopped  just  at  the  entrance  of  the  lane. 

A  moment  after  they  get  round  this,  and  Raymond 
d'Arnac,  his  present  world  in  his  arms,  is  speeding  on  the 
little  by-way,  green  hedges  on  both  sides,  from  which 
comes  the  perfume  of  nascent  buds  and  flowers — and 
behind  him,  some  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards  in  the  rear, 
eight  or  ten  of  De  Conti's  lackeys,  bravos,  and  bullies. 

And  what  a  ride  it  is  for  them  both! 

Even  with  death  perchance  before  him — for  the 
private  battles  of  those  days  meant  little  mercy  for  the 
vanquished — Raymond  feels  each  drop  of  his  coursing 
blood  glow  with  happiness.  Excitement  has  driven 
away  thought  of  everything  but  the  present ;  her  soft 
round  arms  are  about  him,  her  fair  hair  is  pressing  his 
burning  cheek,  her  sweet  voice  is  whispering  in  his  ear. 

As  for  Hilda,  lying  upon  his  breast,  her  heart  beating 
against  his,  she  forgets  all  else — save  the  great  passion 
in  her  wayward  soul. 

Glancing  back,  D'Arnac  sees  the  men  are  hardly 
gaining  on  him.  This  lane  runs  straight  to  the  south. 
He  will  find  a  by-path  to  the  east,  and  so  get  her  he 
holds  so  very  dear — he  acknowledges  this  to  himself 
now — safely  into  Mieux. 

So  they  dash  on — but  not  for  long! 

No  by-path  comes  in  sight — BUT  BEFORE  THEM  FLOWS 
THE  MARNE. 


152  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

The  lane  only  runs  to  a  little  corn-mill  turned  by 
water  power.  Beyond  is  the  river,  swollen  now  by  a 
spring  freshet.  Behind,  De  Conti's  ruffians,  who  give 
a  yell  of  triumph. 

Raymond  has  ridden  on  to  a  little  dock  the  miller 
uses  for  his  boat,  but  there  is  no  boat  there ! 

"  Surrender!  "  comes  from  behind  him. 

He  mutters  hoarsely:  "Surrender  you — NEVER!  " 
Then  looking  into  her  eyes  very  tenderly,  and  pointing 
to  the  raging  flood,  he  whispers:  "Will  you  dare  this 
for  me ?  " 

And  she  replies:  "For  you!  To  anyplace  you  go 
—YES  !  " 

Even  as  De  Conti's  horsemen  thunder  upon  the  dock, 
spurring  his  reluctant  charger,  he  makes  leap  into  the 
rushing  river,  as  the  miller's  wife  runs  out  of  her 
little  cottage,  wringing  her  hands  and  crying:  "He 
will  be  drowned !"  and  De  Conti's  ruffians  give  a  yell 
that  is  half  surprise — half  joy ;  for  these  Italian  bravos 
like  to  see  a  deed  bravely  done. 

One  or  two  of  them  prepare  pistol  and  musketoon  to 
shoot  him  as  he  rises  ;  but  these  are  dashed  hurriedly 
up  by  their  leader,  who  cries:  "Injure  a  hair  of  her 
head  and  we  are  lost  !  De  Conti  will  never  forgive  us. " 

So,  protected  by  this  being  who  has  brought  him 
danger,  Raymond  rises,  still  on  horseback,  and  still  hold- 
ing her  on  his  breast,  amid  the  billows  of  the  flood,  and 
carried  down  by  the  raging  waters,  fights  hjs  way  towards 
the  other  bank, though  round  him  are  whirling  logsandall 
the  other  debris  of  a  river  freshet,  sometimes  wading  if  it 
is  shallow  enough,  sometimes  swimming  where  compelled 
— the  girl  hanging  round  his  neck  laughing  joyously, 
patting  him  on  the  shoulder  and  whispering  :  "  My 
brave  one  !  To  risk  this  for  me — HOW  I  LOVE  YOU!  " 
he  at  last  reaches  the  other  bank. 

But  scrambling  up  through  boulders  and  loose 
rocks,  just  as  they  reach  the  shore,  a  log  borne  by  the 
freshet  strikes  his  horse  heavily  in  the  flank.  The 
noble  animal,  whinnying  with  pain,  sinks  down,  his  leg 
broken  above  the  fetlock,  as  Raymond,  with  one  strong 
pull,  draws  Hilda  upon  the  bank. 

She  cries:  "We  have  escaped  !"  then  bursts  into 
merriment,  though  she  does  not  say  why!  for  she  is 


A     PRINCESS     <>l       1'ARIS.  153 

thinking  of  the  rage  her  successful  abduction  will  bring 
upon  the  Prince  de  Conti,  old  De  Moncrief,  and  that 
being  who  is  trying  to  hold  her  destinies  in  his  hand, 
Monsieur  Lass,  at  present  of  Venice. 

"Not  escaped  yet!"  gasps  young  Lochinvar,  regain- 
ing his  breath,  for  looking  backward- he  sees  the  two 
boldest  of  De  Conti's  men,  encouraged  by  his  success- 
ful passage,  have  leaped  their  horses  into  the  flood,  and 
are  now  following  after  him  across  the  river. 

Were  his  horse  uninjured  he  could  be  far  away  before 
they  reach  the  shore  ;  as  it  is  he  must  stay  and  fight. 
This  he  does  savagely,  vindictively  muttering  between 
clenched  teeth  :  "  I'll  teach  these  canaille  to  follow  a 
colonel  of  France  !  " 

Then  he  turns  and  his  eyes  light  up  with  wildest  hope 
as  he  gives  encouragement  to  his  fair  companion  ;  and 
sees  the  beautiful  picture  she  makes  as  she  stands  on 
the  bank  in  graceful  pose,  wringing  the  water  from 
dripping  clothes  that  drape  about  and  cling  to 
her,  showing  the  exquisite  contours  of  her  charming 
figure. 

"Have  no  fear  !  What  are  two,  to  me,  when  I  am 
fighting  for  you  ?  "  he  whispers,  a  cruel,  relentless  look 
coming  into  his  dark  eyes,  as  he  goes  down  the  bank  to 
meet  his  enemies  at  the  shore,  for  he  is  fighting  now, 
not  for  friendship,  not  for  his  comrade,  but  for  that  one 
great  passion  which  has  caused  so  many  of  the  murders, 
duels  and  assassinations  of  this  world — the  love  of 
woman ! 

Though  the  men  who  come  against  him  are  two,  the 
combat  is  not  so  unequal,  for  Raymond  for  his  journey 
had  armed  himself  as  a  soldier;  at  his  side  he  has 
replaced  the  light  rapier  of  the  gentleman  by  a  slashing 
cavalry  sabre,  from  the  holsters  of  his  saddle  he  has 
just  taken  two  well-tried  pistols  loaded  with  numerous 
slugs. 

The  first  of  these  firearms  places  one  of  his  adver- 
saries hors  de  combat  as  he  struggles  up  the  bank.  The 
second,  dampened  by  the  flood,  fails  to  explode. 
Throwing  it  away  with  a  muttered  curse,  he  stands  on 
foot  confronting  the  man  on  horseback,  who.  while 
Raymond  has  been  attacking  the  other,  has  succeeded 
in  nriking  a  landing  upon  firm  ground. 


154  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

Now  the  combat  is  unequal!  The  horse  gives  the 
De  Conti  ruffian  advantage  over  his  opponent. 

He  is  a  fellow  who  knows  how  to  use  it,  having  seen 
service  under  De  Villeroy  in  Italy  and  D'Asfeld,  in  Spain, 
and  charges  on  D'Arnac,  making  the  movement  of  his 
horse  give  weight  to  the  stroke  of  his  sword. 

This  cut  is  parried  by  Raymond,  who  has  not  time 
to  avoid  his  adversary's  rush,  though  the  force  of  the 
blow  makes  his  arm  tingle  to  the  shoulder. 

Then  the  man,  with  a  frightful  curse,  turns  and 
charges  full  at  D'Arnac,  to  run  him  down,  and  crush  him 
under  his  horse's  hoofs. 

But  Raymond  springs  lightly  aside. 

As  this  is  repeated  the  second  time,  D'Arnac  changes 
his  tactics;  even  as  he  springs  aside  he  runs  after  the 
horse  in  its  career,  and  catching  the  animal  just  as  it 
is  turning,  hamstrings  the  charger  with  his  sabre, 
bringing  both  it  and  its  rider  to  the  ground. 

With  sword  uplifted  and  eyes  that  mean  death, 
D'Arnac  cries:  "Yield!  Throw  away  your  arms — or 
I  kill  you!  " 

"Maladetta!     Of  course  I  yield,"  answers  the  fellow. 

"  Rescue  or  no  rescue.     Quick,  or  I  strike!  " 

"Then,  rescue  or  no  rescue,  I  am  at  your  orders, 
Colonel!" 

"Swear  it  ?  " 

"By  our  Mother  of  Christ!  " 

So,  taking  his  arms  from  the  man  and  tossing  them 
over  a  hedge,  he  tells  the  fellow  to  stand  aside. 

Then  he  whispers  cheerily  to  Hilda:  "  Half  an  hour's 
walk,  dear  one,  and  we  are  in  Mieux,  where  everything 
shall  be  provided  for  your  comfort  and  safety,  and 
then — "  His  eyes  have  a  wistful  look. 

But  she  answers  him  with  a  hoarse  cry :  "  Too  late ! 
they  are  landing!  We  are  lost!" 

A  quick  glance  at  the  river  and  Raymond  sees  delay 
has  put  further  and  greater  peril  upon  him.  Having 
at  last  secured  a  boat,  four  of  the  men  are  coming 
across  to  the  assistance  of  their  comrades.  They  are, 
of  course,  unmounted,  but  it  is  long  odds  against  him! 

He  rushes  to  the  bank  to  prevent  their  landing,  and 
the  combat  takes  place  half  in  the  water,  half  on  the 
land.  In  it  he  would  be  perchance  successful,  for  the 


A     PRINCESS     OK     PARIS.  155 

men  in  the  boat  are  too  much  huddled  together  for  the 
free  handling  of  their  weapons. 

He  has  already  wounded  one  of  them,  when  Raymond 
hears  Hilda's  warning  cry. 

The  ruffian  he  had  disarmed,  and  whose  life  he  had 
spared,  has  regained  his  weapons,  and  regardless  of  his 
oath,  is  coming  to  the  assistance  of  his  comrades. 

It  is  the  cry  to  warn  him  which  ruins  D'Arnac. 

As  he  turns  to  see  what  danger  is  behind  him,  one  of  the 
men  in  the  boat  upraising  a  heavy  oar  brings  it  down 
with  crushing  force  upon  the  head  of  the  young  man, 
but  still  he  fights  on — for  her  sake. 

Half  dazed  he  staggers  up  the  bank,  and  meeting  the 
bravo  who  has  broken  the  faith  of  both  sword  and 
Church,  with  one  last  effort,  parrying  the  wretch's 
thrust,  he  cuts  him  down;  then  darkness  comes 
upon  him  and  he  sinks  senseless  at  her  feet,  and 
would  in  an  instant  be.  dead  under  the  steel  of  his 
pursuers. 

But  Hilda  is  standing  over  him  and  fighting  off  their 
weapons  with  her  fair  arms  and  crying  to  the  ruffians: 
"  Don't  kill  him — you  have  me!  " 

For  a  moment  they  pause ;  then  seeing  signs  of  move- 
ment in  them,  her  eyes  blaze,  she  threatens:  "Raise 
another  hand  against  him,  and  I  will  have  your  heads 
from  your  master,  the  Prince  de  Conti!  You  know  how 
he  values  me!  "  and  laughs  hysterically,  jeering  herself. 
"I  AM  HIS  SPECULATION  IN  BEAUTY." 

By  this  time  the  leader  of  the  lackeys  has  sprung 
from  the  boat,  and  is  beating  up  their  hands,  crying: 
"  Fools!  obey  her!  " 

Then  turning  to  the  fair  object  of  his  pursuit,  he 
says:  "Your  words  are  my  command,  madame!  We 
have  our  orders  to  that  effect.  But  you  must  come 
with  us!  " 

"Certainly!  that  is  the  plan,"  returns  Hilda. 

Then  she  looks  at  D'Arnac  and  whispers :  "  Did  he  not 
fight  bravely  for  me!  He  must  live  to  fight  again ! "  and 
with  her  own  fair  hands  bandages  his  brow,  from  which 
the  blood  is  oozing  slowly;  next  commands:  "  \\'e  will 
take  him  to  Mieux  and  give  him  a  surgeon's  care!' 

"You  must  leave  him  now!"  answers  the  leader, 
hurriedly. 


156  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

"  Not  till  he  is  under  the  hands  of  a  doctor! " 

"  Then  in  that  case,  we  must  use  force,  Madame!  " 
replies  De  Conti's  representative  politely,  but  firmly. 
"  Our  orders  are  explicit  to  waste  no  time  in  this 
affair. " 

"  I  will  not  leave  him  wounded — insensible!"  But 
though  she  cries  and  puts  her  arms  about  Raymond,  and 
even  struggles  with  them,  the  servants  of  Monsieur  de 
Con  ti  are  resolute,  and  drag  her  from  the  young  man's 
side. 

At  last  she  sobs:  "Promise  me  by  the  Virgin  that 
you  will  take  him  to  Mieux  unharmed,  and  place  him 
in  the  surgeon's  hand.  Otherwise  I  will  scream  out  at 
every  post-house,  that  you  are  carrying  me  away  against 
my  will!  " 

"I  promise!  "  mutters  the  leader  sulkily. 

"  On  the  Virgin  ?  "  she  ejaculates,  taking  cross  and 
rosary  from  her  neck. 

"  On  the  Virgin!  "  says  the  man,  so  solemnly  that 
she  knows  he  will  keep  his  word. 

And  so  she  goes  away  from  Raymond,  looking  back  at 
the  boyish  figure,  dripping  with  the  water  of  the  river, 
the  blood  coursing  slowly  from  his  white  forehead,  and 
sighing:  "  If  they  had  killed  him  ?  "  Then  she  suddenly 
mutters:  "  But  no,  he  will  live — he  was  born  to  live  for 
me  !  " 

Being  placed  in  the  boat,  Hilda  is  rowed  across 
to  the  old  mill,  where  the  coach  has  been  brought  down 
to  meet  her.  Stepping  into  this  she  is  driven  off,  the 
carriage  taking  a  long  detour  towards  the  southeast,  by 
Troyes,  Chatellon,  and  so  past  Dijon  to  the  Rhone  and 
the  sunny  Mediterranean ;  from  thence  the  passage 
into  Italy  is  easy,  by  Nice  and  Genoa. 

Nestled  in  the  cushions  of  the  coach  Madame  Hilda 
goes  into  a  merry  little  laugh,  thinking  to  herself: 
"  Won't  my  elopement  a  la  D'Arnac  be  a  good  story  for 
Uncle  Johnny!  "  as  the  carriage  rolls  on  towards  Italy. 
Where,  after  many  days'  travel,  Hilda  reaches  Venice, 
and  Monsieur  Law,  who  is  at  present  playing  pharo  most 
successfully  among  the  nobles  of  the  Grand  Canal. 
Here  she  is  very  safely  kept  till  Louis  XIV.  will  shuffle 
off  this  mortal  coil  and  the  time  is  ripe  for  De  ro-?.fi's 
grand  coup  and  Monsieur  Lass  and  his  system. 


A     PRINCESS    OF     I'ARIS.  157 

As  for  the  young  Lochinvar  of  this  adventure  he  wakes 
up  in  Mieux  the  next  day  with  burning  head  and  mur- 
murs faintly:  "Hilda!  "but  seeing  she  is  not  beside 
him  turns  his  eyes  to  the  wall,  distressed  in  mind  as 
well  as  body,  and  goes  off  under  the  bad  surgical  treat- 
ment of  that  time  into  a  fever,  in  which  he  raves  of 
little  save  his  beautiful  companion  of  that  morning's 
ride  and  flight. 

But  after  a  time  youth  conquers  even  unskilful  surgery, 
and  Monsieur  D'Arnac  finds  himself  well  enough  to 
journey  back  to  Paris,  where  he  is  met  by  very  cold  looks 
at  court,  and  a  pathetic  scolding  from  his  sister,  Mimi, 
who  has  brought  back,  with  her  a  very  sick  husband  to 
nurse  in  Paris,  as  she  whispers  to  him:  "You  foolish 
boy!  Every  one  accuses  you  here  of  running  away  with 
your  friend  O'Brien  Dillon's  wife!  What  will  the  Irish- 
man say  when  he  hears  of  your  breaking  faith  with  him  ?  " 

"I  have  already  written  to  him!  "  replies  Raymond, 
hanging  his  head,  for  his  sister's  words  have  been  so 
near  the  truth. 

This  he  has  done,  but  it  has  not  been  a  letter  that 
told  all  the  truth.  What  gentleman  could  be  so  ungal- 
lant  as  to  betray  a  lady's  love — unto  her  husband. 

"  I  shall  never  see  her  again !  "  thinks  the  young  man. 
"  Why  should  I  confess  to  feelings  that  would  make  my 
comrade  despise  me — and  with  good  reason !  " 

For  weak  from  the  fever  Monsieur  d'Arnac  has 
become  a  good  boy  again,  and  conscience  has  kicked 
Satan  out  of  him,  as  it  does  in  most  sick  men. 

Just  at  this  time  he  is  sent  for  by  his  old  chief,  the 
Due  de  Villars,  who  gives  him  a  very  scowling  welcome, 
and  growls :  ' '  You  have  not  done  well,  my  young  colonel ! 
It  has  cost  you  your  present  promotion  to  a  general- 
ship. Monsieur  le  Due  d'  Orleans  is  very  much  displeased 
with  you.  I  do  not  wish  to  discuss  the  affair  with  you," 
for  Raymond  has  been  about  to  speak,  "because  I 
know — "  a  little  gleam  of  merriment  comes  into  tin- 
old  warrior's  eyes  and  he  chuckles:  "  I  Joys  will  IK- 
boys!"  Then  his  voice  grows  stern  as  In-  says: 
would  to  Heaven  it  had  been  with  some  OIK-  else — but 
your  comrade  O'Brien  Dillon's  wife — you  will  have  t-> 
cross  swords  with  the  Irish  Colonel  when  he  comes 
to  Paris!  " 


158  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

"I  think  not!"  answers  D'Arnac.  "I  was  acting 
in  his  interest !  " 

"Acting  in  his  interest  by  eloping  with  his  wife!  " 
gasps  the  Marechal.  "  Diable  !  Prove  that  to  me  and 
you'll  beat  old  theologian  Fenelon  himself!  " 

"Well,  then,  I  make  you  my  father  confessor," 
returns  Raymond,  who  would  sooner  tell  his  old  chief 
everything  than  any  one  else.  And  so  he  does,  giving 
him  the  whole  story  of  the  elopement  from  first  to  last. 

"  Ho,  ho!  ha,  ha!  "  screams  the  veteran,  the  tears  of 
laughter  running  from  his  eyes.  "On  behalf  of  your 
comrade  you  carried  off  his  wife  to  restore  her  to  him 
in  Vienna;  \)\n\.  parbleu  !  Madame  was  so  naive,  so  allur- 
ing, so  infernally  innocent,  that  at  the  Last  you  were 
going  to  increase  her  innocence  by  carrying  her  off  for 
yourself  man  Bayard !" 

A  moment  after  he  grows  serious  and  adds:  "I've 
more  to  say.  I  don't  know  how,  but  in  this  matter 
you  have  run  against  De  Conti's  interests.  Now, 
that  prince  is  a  very  hard  stone  wall  for  you  to 
butt  your  young  head  against.  The  stories  they've 
told  about  you  are  awful — breaking  open  a  convent, 
sacrilege,  and  all  that!  Madame  de  Maintenon  has 
even  spoken  to  the  King  about  it,  and  were  his  Majesty 
well  enough  to  attend  to  business,  it  might  go  hard 
with  you.  D'Argenson  has  even  suggested  arrest- 
ing you,  but  he  is  a  cur  who  always  growls  at  the 
underdog  in  a  fight.  As  it  is,  I  have  done  the  best  I  can 
for  you.  I  want  you  away  from  your  enemies  till  they  for- 
get you.  I  want  you  to  be  a  general  soon.  I  have  an 
order  giving  you  command  of  a  regiment  on  the  Span- 
ish border.  There  you  can  gain  your  step  by  capturing 
smugglers  and  contrabandists.  You  leave  to-morrow." 

Under  these  circumstances  D'Arnac  deems  it  wise 
not  to  discuss  the  matter  further  with  his  commanding 
officer,  but  thanks  him  for  his  interest  in  him,  and  next 
day  bids  his  relatives  adieu  in  Paris  and  takes  post  for 
the  Pyrenees,  traveling  through  a  country  that  shows 
the  effects  of  the  tax-gatherer  grinding  down  a  people ; 
villages  that  have  become  depopulated,  and  large  towns 
half  deserted,  for  France,  under  the  last  days  of  the 
Grand  Monarch  and  his  fermiers  ge'ueraux,  was  the 
most  oppressed  and  distressed  country  of  Europe. 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  159 

So  Raymond  d'Arnac  passes  out  of  the  life  of  Paris, 
and  for  three  years  occupies  himself  in  destroying 
smugglers  that  are  brigands,  and  contrabandists  who 
are  bandits,  and  in  that  time  changes  from  the  boy  of 
impulsive  sword  and  heart  to  the  man  of  wit,  conduct 
and  experience, 


BOOK     III. 
A  PRINCESS  OF  PARIS. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

THE    BIRTH    OF    MODERN    PARIS. 

IT  is  the  first  day  of  November  of  the  year  1717  when 
Raymond  d'Arnac  returns  to  the  capital  of  France, 
riding  in  at  the  Port  aux  Tripes  from  the  South. 

His  three  years  of  hard  service  on  the  Spanish 
frontier  have  given  him  what  age  always  brings  to  those, 
who  learn — experience;  not  the  experience  of  the 
courtier,  but  the  experience  of  the  man  of  action  and 
decision. 

His  face  is  but  little  older,  for  healthy  manhood 
changes  but  slightly  between  twenty  and  twenty- 
three.  His  moustache  is  a  little  longer,  his  eye  per- 
chance somewhat  sterner,  his  lips  slightly  more  deter- 
mined, than  when  he  rode  out  of  Paris  that  night  to 
carry  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  back  to  her  husband  in 
Vienna;  for  he  has  seen  that  service — the  most  trying 
to  all  officers — the  command  of  mutinous  troops. 

It  is  owing  to  his  undaunted  courage  in  put- 
ting down  an  outbreak  in  his  regiment,  that  he  now 
wears  the  uniform  of  a  general.  On  taking  his  post 
in  the  Pyrenees,  he  had  found  his  command,  once 
veterans  of  the  Spanish  war,  having  done  good  service 
in  the  peninsular,  transformed  into  a  band  of 
marauders,  foragers,  and  almost  semi-banditti. 
Having  received  no  pay  from  the  government  for  years, 
hardly  forage,  scarcely  rations — they  were  compelled  to 


A     PRINCKSS     01-      1'AKIS.  l6l 

subsist  upon  the  country _as  best  they  could.  They 
did  so  after  the  manner  of  middle  age  freebooters. 

And  this  going  on  for  over  a  year  after  Raymond  had 
assumed  command,  one  day  in  the  autumn  of  1715 — 
Louis  XIV.  being  dead — they  had  openly  mutinied,  and 
swore  they  would  march  to  Paris  to  find  out  what  had 
become  of  the  Commissary  General.  This  e'meute 
of  the  men  had  been  put  down  by  the  steady  determi- 
nation of  their  chief,  and  in  consequence  of  his  conduct, 
the  Regent  had  given  D'Arnac  the  rank  the  King 
had  withheld. 

Then  shortly  after,  in  1716;  their  pay  arrived — not  in 
driblets,  but  in  a  lump — the  arrears  of  years — and  half 
starving  men,  and  officers  with  uniforms  patched,  and 
hungry  faces,  wondered  what  had  come  to  make  France 
rich. 

Shortly  after  it  became  known  to  the  troops  that  their 
good  fortune  was  owing  to  one  Monsieur  Lass,  who  had 
advanced  money  to  the  Regent  i:o  pay  the  army. 

After  that  the  military  swore  by  Lass,  and  no  man 
could  question  or  sneer  at  the  new  financial  power  that 
was  rising  in  France,  in  the  presence  of  the  army,  with- 
out being  asked  if  he  were  a  common  fellow,  by  one  of 
the  privates,  how  he  dared  say  a  word  against  the  good 
angel  of  the  army;  or,  if  he  were  of  the  rank  of  gentle- 
man, being  tapped  on  the  shoulder  by  some  commis- 
sioned officer  of  France  and  requested  to  cross  swords 
with  him.  Parbleu !  for  daring  to  raise  his  dirty 
tongue  against  the  friend  and  benefactor  of  all  who 
wore  the  uniform  of  France. 

This  new  power  coming  up  behind  the  Regency  has 
recalled  to  Raymond  the  Monsieur  Lass  of  Venice,  the 
guardian  of  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon,  and  though  he 
receives  his  promotion,  he  shrewdly  thinks  it  is  perhaps 
owing  to  that  gentleman's  kind  offices  that  his  request^ 
for  leave  to  visit  Paris  have  never  been  honored  until 
this  time,  when  they  could  not  well  be  refused,  as  he 
has  served  for  three  years  on  the  outposts  of  the  army, 
and  is  now  called  by  urgent  personal  family  business  to 
Paris. 

For  his  uncle,  the  Comte  de  Crevecceur,  has  at  l.i^t 
concluded  that  he  is  too  sick  to  risk  his  soul  l>\  eating 
meat  in  Lent,  and  has  made  personal  interest  with 


162  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

Monsieur  le  Due  d'Orleans  to  permit  his  nephew  to  visit 
Paris,  as  he  wishes  to  see  him  before  he  dies  in  regard 
to  the  best  disposition  of  his  estates,  to  enable  the 
family  to  keep  sufficient  means  together  to  continue  the 
grand  establishment  consonant  with  its  high  rank  and 
prestige. 

It  is  on  this  business  that  Raymond  d'Arnac  is 
coming  to  Paris,  though  he  knows  he  will  have  also  some- 
thing to  do  about  his  ward,  Mademoiselle  Jeanne  Quin- 
ault,  who  has  grown  into  quite  a  young  lady,  his  sister 
Mimi's  letters  have  told  him,  and  of  so  wild  and  head- 
strong a  disposition  that  the  widowed  Marquise  de 
Chateaubrien  finds  it  very  difficult  keeping  proper  con- 
trol over  desires  which,  Mimi  states,  are  both  frivolous 
and  absurd. 

For  the  little  Jeanne  has  expressed,  with  tremendous 
emotion  and  emphasis,  and  frightful  stamping  of  the 
feet,  her  determination  to  run  away  from  the  convent 
and  go  on  the  stage. 

Burdened  with  the  cares  of  her  husband's  large  estate, 
as  two  years  before  this  Roul  de  Chateaubrien  had 
passed  away,  Mimi  has  requested  her  brother's  aid 
in  controlling  what  she  terms  "a  child  of  nature  and 
le  diable!" 

Occupied  with  these  ideas  Raymond  d'Arnac,  as  he 
rides  along  the  streets  of  Paris,  would  scarce  notice  the 
change  in  them  were  it  not  of  so  marked  an  order  as  to 
arouse  his  wonder — almost  his  astonishment. 

He  had  left  the  capital  of  France  filled  with  the 
suffering  that  always  comes  with  reckless  spoliation  in 
government ;  the  people  in  want — without  occupation 
— without  hope — even  starving.  He  comes  back  to  find 
the  city  a  hive  of  industry,  the  populace  merry  and 
happy;  well  fed,  well  cared  for,  and  working  like  bees 
in  the  honey. 

Raymond  wonders  to  himself  if  this  is  also  the  work 
of  Monsieur  Lass,  who  has  made  the  army  contented 
by  regular  and  sufficient  pay  and  rations,  and  has 
apparently  made  the  provinces  that  he  had  ridden 
through  on  his  way  to  the  Pyrenees  equally  prosperous,  for 
the  depopulated  villages,  on  his  return,  have  seemed 
full  of  industry,  and  the  half  deserted  towns  have  again 
their  streets  full  of  busy  people,  their  factories 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  163 

noisy  with  the  hum  of  looms,  their  corn  mills  grinding 
away  on  the  plenteous  harvest  brought  in  by  happy 
husbandmen  He  has  said  to  himself:  "Diable'viho 
is  the  author  of  all  of  this  ?  Is  it  Monsieur  Lass  and 
his  system  ?  (for  these  were  getting  to  be  very  much 
talked  about.)  "If  so,  he  must  be  a  very  great 
man!  " 

At  this  moment  this  was  also  the  opinion  of  many  at 
the  Court  of  Versailles  and  in  the  City  of  Paris. 

This  wondrous  change  had  come  about  in  the 
years  of  Raymond's  absence,  very  much  after  this 
manner: 

When  D'Arnac  had  ridden  away  from  Paris  Louis 
XIV.,  grown  imbecile  by  age  and  high  living,  had  for 
years  been  under  the  subjection  and  rule  of  that  wicked 
old  shrew,  Madame  de  Maintenon,  whose  religion  was  a 
mixture  of  cant,  bigotry,  hypocrisy  and  superstition, 
and  under  her  domination  he  had  run  the  Government 
of  France  very  much  as  an  old  woman  would  run  it. 
He  had  spent  everything  on  himself  and  his  favorite 
mistress,  panders  and  sycophants,  and  nothing  on  his 
country.  He  had  rented  out  the  revenues  of  France  to 
the  fermiers  ge'ne'raux,  who  had  despoiled  it,  grinding 
the  poor  to  starvation  by  their  taxes,  the  rich  to  despair 
by  their  exactions. 

His  foreign  policy  had  been  conducted  on  the 
personal  enmity  plan,  and  he  had  squandered  the  lives 
of  his  subjects  and  the  revenues  of  his  Kingdom 
on  the  war  of  the  Spanish  succession  because  he  had 
taken  a  dislike  to  his  imperial  cousin  of  Austria. 

In  the  face  of  common  sense,  good  judgment, and  every 
rational  and  patriotic  consideration,  he  had  continued 
this  war  till  France  was  so  exhausted,  both  in  men  and 
money,  that  had  it  not  been  that  John  Churchill,  Duke 
of  Marlborough,  loved  the  French  gold  thrown  at  his 
feet  by  his  affrighted  Most  Christian  Majesty  Louis 
XIV.  better  than  he  did  even  glory  in  war  after  the 
battle  of  Ramillies,  the  capital  of  France  might  have 
fallen  before  the  Austrian  and  British  luyom-tv  F<.r 
Paris  in  1706  was  more  open  to  the  English  and  Imperi- 
alists, under  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  and  Prim  < 
Eugene,  than  it  was  in  1870  to  the  Germans,  under 
Bismarck  and  Von  Moltke,  after  Sedan. 


164  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

So,  under  this  monarch,  who  said  placidly  and 
believed  in  his  very  soul,  ''lam  the  State!"  France 
had  gone  from  bad  to  worse. 

What  had  commenced  as  a  prosperous  reign  had  be- 
come an  unfortunate  one,  and  a  country  that  had  been 
very  rich  had  become  very  poor,  many  of  its  best  popu- 
lation being  driven  from  it  for  religious  belief,  and  many 
of  its  best  artisans  fleeing  to  other  lands  to  avoid  its 
tax  gatherers;  its  army  unpaid  ;  its  ministers  and  pleni- 
potentiaries without  funds  for  years,  so  that  they  almost 
starved  in  foreign  capitals,  and  had  not  money  enough 
even  to  pay  postage  on  their  letters  to  ask  relief  from 
the  country  that  had  sent  them  out  as  its  embassadors. 

Filled  with  that  peculiar  veneration — that  belief  of 
semi-deity — placed  around  a  king  who  common  mortals 
thought  crowned  by  God— France  suffered  his  rule 
— and  suffered  for  it — until  in  the  course  of  time,  on 
Sept.  ist,  1715,  "  I  am  the  State  "  died,  and  the  State 
survived  his  demise  very  well  and  very  happily. 

His  little  grandchild,  Louis  XV. ,  too  young  to  reign 
came  to  the  crown,  but  a  Regent  must  be  appointed, 
and  that  Regent  must  be  Philippe,  Due  d'Orleans!  At 
least  he  had  so  decreed  it,  with  his  following,  the  Dues 
de  Conde,  de  Conti  and  Saint  Simon,  and  others  of  his 
crowd  and  backing. 

So,  even  before  the  body  of  the  late  King  had  been 
placed  at  rest,  they  called  a  meeting  of  the  Parliament, 
and  this  Parliament,  doing  very  humbly  what  it  was 
commanded  to  do,  abolished  the  will  of  the  late  King 
and  promptly  took  all  chances  of  government  from 
his^  Dastards,  who  were  itching  for  it,  the  Due 
de  "  Maine  and  the  Count  de  Toulouse,  and  placed 
the  Regency  in  the  hands  of  Philippe,  Due  d'Orleans, 
which  Philippe,  Due  d'Orleans,  made  up  his  mind 
very  promptly,  was  equivalent  to  having  the  full 
power  of  a  reigning  king. 

In  fact,  even  before  Parliament  made  him  Regent, 
he  had  decreed  this  condition  of  things,  and  had 
three  regiments  of  Gardes,  under  the  command  of 
his  crony,  the  Due  de  Guiche,  surrounding  Parliament 
at  the  time  they  were  making  him  Regent,  to  bully 
and  browbeat,  and  whip  into  shape,  and  perchance 
stab  and  do  to  death  any  members  of  that  body  who 


A      I'RINl   !.><     UK      I'ARI-.  165 

questioned  the  proposition  that  Philippe,  Due  d'Orleans, 
was  to  take  the  reigns  of  government  in  France. 

Now,  curiously  enough,  after  this  statement  of  affairs, 
Philippe  d'Orleans,  Regent  of  France,  was  a  very  good 
kind  of  prince,  after  the  manner  of  the  princes  of  that 
day.  He  didn't  believe  in  anybody  doing  wrong  but 
himself.  He  ordered  all  arrested  under  the  lettres  de 
cachet  of  his  predecessor  to  be  released  from  the  Bastile. 

One,  a  poor  Italian,  who  had  been  seized,  on  the 
very  night  of  his  arrival  in  Paris,  for  some  reason  not 
one  of  those  who  had  him  in  charge  could  guess,  and 
who  had  been  kept  in  a  solitary  oubliette,  on  bread  and 
water,  for  thirty-five  years,  on  being  let  out  to  the  light 
of  day,  cried  in  despair  that  he  knew  no  one  in  this 
world — that  his  relatives  in  Italy  had  all  thought  him 
dead  long  ago — that  all  his  property  had  gone  to  the 
winds  of  heaven — that  he  did  not  even  know  his  way 
through  the  streets  of  Paris — that  he  would  starve !  For 
God's  sake  to  put  him  back  in  the  Bastile  and  let  him 
die  there. 

This  favor  was  kindly  accorded  to  him,  though  he 
was  given  a  better  resting  place  and  better  rations, 
and  he  thanked  his  Highness,  the  Due  d'Orleans,  for 
his  kindness  to  him,,  and  finished  up  his  unfortunate 
life  within  the  confines  of  the  great  fortress  that  had  so 
long  been  his  prison — his  home. 

But  though  Philippe  d'Orleans  did  release  all  arrested 
under  the  lettres  de  cachet  of  Louis  XIV.  he  did  not 
restrict  himself  from  the  proper  and  polite  use  of  these 
peculiar  engines  of  despotism,  which  permitted  him  to 
seize,  arrest,  and  confine,  without  word  to  relatives, 
without  trial  in  court — any  h  "man  being  it  pleased  his 
sovereign  will  to  inter,  confine,  and  shut  out  from  the 
light  of  day. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  Philippe  was  of  an  easy- 
going, careless,  affable  disposition,  with  an  unlimited 
love  for  pretty  ladies,  and  unlimited  conseienee  in 
gratifying  his  love,  with  an  open  purse  t'»r  all  his 
favorites  and  mistresses,  and  a  most  extraordinary  wish, 
for  potentates  of  that  clay,  to  pay  tin-  debts  of  his 
country,  which  were  enormous,  as  upon  the  death  "I 
Louis  le  Grand,  the  Budget  of  !•' ranee  showed  a  iletu -it 
of  twenty-eight  hundred  million  livres — an  enormous 


1 66  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

sum  to-day — but  one  appallingly  colossal,  judging  by 
the  money  value  of  that  time. 

But  how  to  pay  it  ? 

The  troops  in  arrears  for  years!  The  ministers 
unpaid  for  generations! 

At  first  it  was  proposed  to  liquidate  the  public  debt 
of  France  in  the  easy  way  of  that  time — by  an  edict 
wiping  it  out  and  expunging  it  from  the  public  ledger. 

But  easy-going  Philippe  could  not  bring  himself  to  this 
radical  measure,  as  the  capital  of  many  of  the  favorites 
of  his  court  and  of  many  of  the  country  nobility  had 
been  invested  in  government  rents  and  annuities,  and 
there  came  up  a  great  cry  from  this  unfortunate  class — 
among  them  the  Count  de  Crevecceur — that  made  the 
angels  in  Heaven  itself  hold  their  ears  at  their  noise, 
and,  therefore,  penetrated  the  thick  walls  of  the  Palais 
Royal,  in  which  Monsieur  le  Due  was  very  contentedly 
basking  in  his  new  authority. 

Then  it  was  proposed  to  fall  on  and  despoil  the 
fermiers  gene'raux,  who  had  been  making  all  the  money 
out  of  the  collection  of  taxes  ground  out  of  the 
country.  And  this  was  done  until  these  financial  cor- 
morants howled  for  mercy;  very  much  after  the  manner 
that  Louis  XIV.  had  treated  his  Surintendent  De  Foquet, 
commanding  one  day  a  million  livres — the  next  two — 
the  third  THREE — until  Foquet,  though  the  richest  man 
in  France,  became  a  bankrupt,  and  was  clapped  into  the 
Bastile  for  having  no  more  money. 

But  even  the  fermiers  generaux  were  not  rich  enough 
to  pay  the  debts  of  France. 

Then,  what  to  do  ? 

The  credit  of  the  country  was  nothing.  Billets 
cTEtat  were  worth  only  twenty-five  per  cent,  of  their  par 
value.  Loans  could  not  be  obtained.  Besides  that, 
the  army  threatened  to  rise  en  masse. 

Then  one  fine  day  very  late  in  the  year  1715,  Louis 
de  Conti,  who  had  been  biding  his  time,  proposed  to 
the  Regent,  who  was  now  in  dire  financial  straits,  to 
bring  Monsieur  Lass,  the  great  gambler — the  great 
financier — from  Italy,  and  see  what  he  could  do  with  a 
bankrupt  country. 

"  He  has  an  infernally  great  mind!  "  says  De  Conti 
in  his  bluff  way  to  the  Regent. 


A     I'KIM  ESS     OF     PARIS.  167 

"Yes;  I  have  met  him  before  over  the  pharo  table!  " 
laughs  D'Orleans.  "  He  was  very  successful  there. 
He  got  everybody's  money!  Don't  you  think  he  might 
get  ours?  "  This  last  nervously. 

'"  Yes,  if  we  had  any!  "  guffaws  De  Conti. 

"As  it  \%,  parbleu !  what  can  be  worse?"  laughs  the 
Regent.  Then  he  suddenly  turns  savagely  on  De 
Confl,  muttering:  "What  have  you  done  with  HER  ?" 

For  during  the  last  six  months,  engaged  in  the  cares 
of.  State,  Philippe  d'Orleans,  who  is  a  fickle  man,  has 
forgotten  the  radiant  beauty  he  had  once  sworn  by  all 
the  powers  of  France  and  all  the  gods  of  the  lower 
regions  should  be  his  very  own. 

"Whom  does  your  Highness  mean?"  returns  De 
Conti;  feigning  both  innocence  and  ignorance.  "You 
can't  refer  to  Madame  de  Parabere — I  saw  her  in  your, 
anteroom  as  I  came  in%"  mentioning  the  name  of  the 
present  first  favorite  in  the  Regent's  crowd  of  fair 
ones. 

"You  know  whom  I  mean!"  answers  D'Orleans, 
who  is  by  no  means  a  fool,  "that  niece  of  Monsieur 
Lass.  The  one  I  saw  but  twice— the  one  whom  I 
would  have  had  by  my  side  now,  if " 

"If  young  D'Arnac  had  not  run  away  with  her!" 
interjects  De  Conti,  cutting  off  accusation  against  him- 
self. "I  know  to  whom  you  refer  now,  very  well,  Sire. 
She,  I  believe,  was  recaptured  upon  the  very  night  of 
her  elopement,  by  our  friend  Lass,  who  has  a  longer 
head  than  either  of  us.  The  lady,  I  am  informed,  is  at 
present  with  him  in  his  Venetian  palace." 

"Then,"  replies  the  Regent,  in  eager  and  excited 
tones,  "  let  Monsieur  Lass  be  sent  for! ' 

"I  have  already  communicated  with  him!"  replies 
De  Conti.  "He  will  come  to  Paris,  provided  your 
Highness  gives  him  safe  conduct  for  his  return  to  Italy 
in  case  negotiations  do  not  go  to  his  liking. " 

"  Parbleu  !  that  means  he  will  not  bring  the  girl 
with  him!  "  snarls  D'Orleans,  savagely. 

"That  I  believe  is  Monsieur  Lass'  intention  at 
present!"  remarks  De  Conti,  struggling  with  all  his 
court  etiquette  to  prevent  a  grin. 

So  the  safe  conduct  having  been  given,  Monsieur 
Lass,  towards  the  end  of  the  year  1715,  came  to  Pans, 


1 68  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

to  find  the  Due  d'Orleans  sorely  pressed  for  what  is 
needful,  even  to  princes — ready  cash;  his  unpaid 
soldiers  in  a  terrible  state  of  semi-mutiny,  and  the 
people  of  France  on  the  verge  of  incipient  revolution. 

These  facts  having  been  put  before  the  great 
financier  with  the  hard  Scotch  brain  by  the  Regent, 
and  his  advice  being  asked,  he  has  answered  very 
promptly :  ' '  Pay  the  army !  " 

"Diable!   How,  without  money  ?" 

"Pay  first  those  troops  immediately  around  Paris. 
They  will  be  a  bulwark  to  your  power  against  others 
coming  from  without." 

"  Mon  Dieu  !     How-?" 

"  By  money  advanced  by  me!  On  the  conclusion  of 
negotiations  here,  I  will  lend  to  you,  as  Regent  of 
France,  two  million  livres.  That  will  secure  you  the  army 
in  and  about  Paris.  Then  on  the  formation  of  my  bank, 
I  will  advance  the  balance  to  pay  all  the  other  troops 
in  France! " 

"Your  bank  ?"  remarks  the  Regent.  "What 
BANK  ?  " 

"The  bank  of  Monsieur  Lass,  for  which  I  hope  your 
Highness  will  see  fit  to  give  me  letters  patent,  author- 
izing me  to  form  such  a  company  as  I  will  describe 
to  you,  and  issue  capital  stock  and  bills  of  credit, 
which  shall  be  acceptable  as  payment  throughout 
France!  " 

For  Lass  was  a  financier  in  advance  of  his  time,  and 
had  discerned  his  great  fact  that  there  was  not  actual 
silver  and  gold  enough  in  the  money  of  the  world  to  do 
its  business;  but  that  paper  currency  would  easily  take 
its  place  as  long  as  there  was  credit  behind  it.  That 
its  manufacture  was  but  a  matter  of  printing  presses, 
and  that  this  paper  money  would  be  as  good  as  coin  as 
long  as  people  belived  in  it. 

So  he  hastily  explains  his  system  to  the  Duke,  who 
asks  him  what  the  capital  of  the  bank  will  be. 

"Six  million  livres!" 

" Pa'rdi!    You  are  modest!  "  returns  the  Regent. 

"Yes,  but  we  may  increase  the  capital  afterwards 
with  your  Highness'  permission,"  remarks  Lass. 

"Very  well!"  answers  D'Orleans.  "When  your 
bank  is  organized  send  me  a  few  of  your  first  bills. 


A      I'KINCK.-S     OK      PARIS.  169 

They  will  be   very  convenient  just  at  present  at  the 
Palais  Royal  !  " 

And  it  was  on  this  insignificant  capital  began 
the  scheme  that  was  to  make  France  the  banking  center 
of  Europe,  and  change  it  from  poverty  to  unheard  of 
oppulence — while  it  lasted. 

For  the  plans  of  Monsieur  Lass  were  so  far-reaching 
that  neither  he  nor  I)e  Conti  dared  spring  them  on  the 
Regent  in  a  moment,  as  they  « mbraced  not  only  every 
colony  of  France,  but  France  itself,  whole  and  entire, 
to  be  made  the  throne  upon  which  to  rear  a  finan- 
cial despotism  over  the  world  of  commerce. 

After  a  few  days'  negotiations  and  pros  and  cons,  and 
"ifs  "and  "ands  "  and  "buts, "  the  bargain  is  made,  and 
Monsieur  Lass  is  about  to  depart  for  Italy  to  bring  back 
his  establishment  and  take  residence  in  Paris. 

As  he  takes  his  leave  the  Regent  remarks  to  him: 
"Don't  forget  to  bring  mademoiselle,  your  niece, 
with  you !  " 

"  If  not,  your  Highness?"  returns  Lass,  laughing 
and  bowing. 

"Then  perhaps  I  shall  forget  to  sign  your  charter!" 
guffaws  the  Regent,  for  these  two  understand  each 
other  pretty  well  by  this  time. 

But  the  financier  on  his  return  to  Paris  does  not  forget 
to  bring  Madame  Hilda  with  him,  and  on  the  loth  of 
May,  1716,  the  bank  of  Monsieur  Lass  is  commenced 
on  the  Rue  Vivienne  in  part  of  the  old  Palais  Mazarin, 
almost  on  the  site  of  the  present  Bourse  of  to-day. 
Paper  money  flows  out  very  rapidly,  and  the  credit  of 
the  bank  is  really  good,  for  they  stipulate  to  pay  their 
bills  not  in  the  value  of  the  marks  of  the  time  of 
payment,  but  in  the  value  of  the  marks  when  the-bill 
is  issued,  which  in  the  unstable  currency  of  France,  at 
that  time,  is  a  very  great  consideration,  for  by  this  a 
man  knows  exactly  what  he  is  going  to  receive  even  if 
payment  is  deferred  a  year. ' 

The  paper  money  floating  about  the  country  has 
made-  times  at  least  apparently  prosperous.  I  Jut  Law 
has  determined  to  make  tlu-m  really  so,  for  beyond  this 
bank  is  a  great  and  grander  scheme',  by  which  tin- 
colonies  of  France  shall  pour  the  wealth  of  both  tin-  \\  <  St 
and  East  Indies  into  the  lap  of  the  parent  nation;  as 


1 70  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

the  Spanish  Main  and  Mexico  and  Peru  had  once  done, 
into  the  bosom  of  Spain,  making  her  one  century  before 
this  the  richest  country  on  the  earth. 

So  things  have  gone  on,  until  the  city  that  Raymond 
rides  into  this  ist  day  of  November,  1717,  has  changed 
from  the  old  feudal  stronghold  of  the  Capets  into  the 
chrysalis  that  will  become,  in  the  course  of  two  cen- 
turies, that  butterfly  of  capitals — -the  Paris  of  to-day. 

It  is  a  change  from  the  middle  ages  to  the  world  of 
modern  progress;  the  arts  of  war  are  giving  place  to  the 
arts  of  peace ;  the  boulevards  erected  as  fortifications 
are  now  torn  down  and  made  into  long  broad  avenues 
and  carriage-ways,  shaded  by  trees  and  beautified  by 
flowers. 

For  the  time  has  come  when  men  can  breathe  the  open 
air  of  Heaven  and  need  not  to  save  their  lives  sleep  each 
night  surrounded  by  walls  and  battlements;  when  men 
can  take  together  the  good  things  of  life;  when  the 
theatres  and  the  opera  and  the  cafes  permit  the  social 
intercourse  of  modern  life,  and  all  the  fetes  and  joyance 
are  not  confined  to  the  court  of  the  King  and  the  chateaux 
of  the  noblesse. 

In  fact,  Paris,  as  Raymond  d'Arnac  looks  on  it,  is 
beginning  to  assume  the  airs  of  that  gay  city  we  of  the 
modern  world  know  and  love ;  its  nobles  are  already  in 
hose  and  doublet  instead  of  armor — its  ladies  in  silks 
and  satins,  the  webs  of  Lyons  and  Flanders,  enjoying 
sport,  and  play,  and  license,  and  love — but  underneath 
the  tossing  mass  of  general  humanity  yet  struggles  and 
strives  to  better  itself  and  become  less  of  the  serf  and 
more  of  the  man. 

But  the  fermiers  ge'ne'raux  are  still  at  work — the 
serfs  still  unemancipated. 

Their  time  is  to  come  three  generations  later,  when 
amid  booming  cannons,  fire  and  blood,  the  Bastile  falls, 
and  with  it  the  heads  of  king  and  nobility,  and  a  nation 
goes  mad  for  three  years,  trying  in  that  short  time  to 
right  the  wrongs  of  eighteen  centuries. 

But  Paris  does  not,  on  the  night  Raymond  d'Arnac 
looks  at  it,  anticipate  the  revolution  that  came  seventy 
years  afterwards;  its  streets  are  full  of  people,  gay  and 
happy;  its  equipages  more  brilliant  and  numerous  than 
ever  he  has  seen  before ;  its  crowd  of  mendicants  have 


A     PRIKCESS     oi       PARIS.  171 

given  way  to  chattering  hucksters  and  vivacious  peddlers 
plying  their  trades  under  the  burning  oil  lamps  that 
have  doubled  in  splendor  and  number. 

For  over  this  feudal  city  has  conic  the  one  great 
thing  needed  to  make  it  a  metropolis  —  commercial 
progress.  From  a  stronghold  and  a  fortress  it  has 
become  the  banking  center  of  Europe. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

DE  CONTl's    LITTLE    JOKE. 

SUCH  vivacity  in  the  streets  raises  the  spirits  of  the 
young  man,  and  he  rides  up  to  his  Cousin  Charlie's 
very  handsome  apartments  on  the  Rue  de  Nevers  in 
high  feather. 

Here  he  is  welcomed  effusively  by  De  Moncrief,  who 
cries:  "I  was  expecting  you,  man  general.  I  am  glad 
you  came  to  me  first,  as  I  advised  you  in  my  letter. 
A  little  dinner  with  me  and  we  will  discuss  family 
matters,  and  then — voila  !  the  f  rst  bal  de  r Opera  !  " 

"A  ball  ?    My  uncle  is  very  sick!  " 

"Oh,  yes,  sick — frightened!  But  he  will  live  six 
months — a  year — perhaps  bury  us  both,  though  he  has 
given  up  meat  in  Lent.  To-morrow  you  can  see  him. 
To-night,  forget  all  else  but  the  bal  de  I'O/era, 
invented  by  me  to  give  pleasure  to  the  Regent — to 
bring  our  people  more  together. 

"Monsieur  Lass  thinks  it  well  that  the  heads  of 
commerce  and  banking  should  meet  the  princes  of  the 
court,  and  has  suggested  that  we  nobles  will  be  able 
to  borrow  more  liberally  by  tapping 'Monsieurs  Bour- 
geoise  and  Goldsmith  upon  the  shoulder  for  one  evening 
in  the  year." 

Which  in  truth  was  the  original  idea  of  these  entertain- 
ments, the  masked  bals  de  I' Opera  for  which  Paris  has 
long  been  celebrated,  and  which  succeed  in  no  other 
city  as  well  as  they  do  in  the  one  that  gave  them  birth, 
for  it  needs  French  vivacity,  French  frivolity,  French 
esprit  and  French  dinHo-ic  to  make  a  genuine  high-rolling, 
fun-loving  bal  de  I  Opera  an  emotional  suc<  < 


172  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"  Invented  by  you!  "  laughs  D'Arnac.  "Have  you 
taken  to  dancing  again  ?  " 

"  I  have  always  danced,"  replies  De  Moncrief,  stiffly. 
Then  he  babbles  on:  "  How  do  you  like  my  new  apart- 
ments ? " 

"Magnificent!  Astounding!"  answers  his  cousin, 
who  has  just  come  from  camp  and  bivouac. 

As  in  truth  they  are,  for  Monsieur  de  Moncrief  has 
blossomed  out  as  one  of  the  very  great  favorites  of 
fortune  in  this  last  year. 

"  How  can  you  afford  it  ?  "  asks  Raymond. 

"How?  Because,  my  boy,  I  am  not  only  the  Pro- 
cureur  du  Roy,  but  I  am  a  member  of  the  banking 
company  of  Monsieur  Lass.  Lass,  who  has  paid  your 
salary  as  General  for  the  last  year;  Lass,  who  pays 
everything;  Lass,  who  takes  a  piece  of  paper  and  says: 
'  Make  that  into  bank  notes  for  one  hundred  thousand 
livres1 — and,  presto!  it  is  done." 

"You — a  banker  !"  ejaculates  Raymond,  very  much 
astonished. 

But  this  is  the  truth,  as  Monsieur  de  Moncrief  has 
kept  a  very  tight  clutch  upon  the  Prince  de  Conti's  promise 
to  him,  and  has  hung  on  to  the  Regent-De  Conti-Lass 
crowd  and  done  their  legal  work  and  any  little  tender 
matters  that  required  what  to-day  would  be  called  "a 
first-class  corporation  lawyer's  advice,"  i.  e.,  the  power 
of  Reading  his  clients  as  close  to  the  gates  of  a  prison  as 
possible  and  not  letting  them  get  in. 

He  has  performed  these  various  little  services  for  his 
patrons,  with  such  energy,  skill,  and  general  long- 
headedness,  that  they  have  rewarded  him  with  quite  a 
little  slice  of  the  stock  of  the  bank  of  Lass,  which 
having  gone  up  very  materially  in  value,  has  permitted 
Monsieur  Charles  de  Moncrief  to  spend  his  money  so 
very  freely  that  all  the  young  actresses  of  the  opera 
and  theatre  affect  to  think  Charlie  has  grown  very 
boyish  again. 

Then  boy  Charlie  and  cousin  Raymond  sit  down  to  a 
magnificent  dinner,  magnificently  served,  with  plenty 
of  lackeys  in  attendance  and  wax  lights  innumerable. 

During  this  De  Moncrief  tells  his  guest:  "I  have 
taken  quarters  for  you  near  my  own  on  the  Rue  Chris- 
tine, not  of  course,  as  elaborate  as  these." 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  173 

"No,  these  would  be  more  fitting  for  a  mare'chal 
than  a  general!"  remarks  D'Arnac  contemplatively. 

"Egad! '  I  don't  believe  old  De  Villars  himself  could 
stand  the  cost  of  these — twenty  thousand  livres  a  year! 
Yours  are  only  five  thousand  !  "  returns  De  Moncrief, 
delightedly. 

"Five  thousand  livres  a  year  for  some  beggarly 
rooms  !  "  cries  Raymond  aghast. 

"  Parbleu  !  They  are  reasonable  !  "  answers  Cousin 
Charlie,  for  living  was  fast  becoming  extravagant  in 
Paris  under  the  influence  of  increasing  money. 

Then  he  goes  on  contemplatively:  "Had  I  landed 
property,  I  would  be  as  great  a  nabob  as  any  of  the  comtes 
and  mare"chals. " 

To  get  estates  has  been  the  ambition  of  De 
Moncrief's  life,  and  he  is  determined  to  have  them,  and 
those  of  Crevecoeur  are  very  handsome  and  extensive 
ones. 

"Do  you  know,  Raymond,  my  boy!  "  he  says  after  a 
minute's  musing,  "they  are  going  to  marry  you  off  to 
the  little  Comtesse  Julie  de  Beaumont  when  she 
becomes  older  ? " 

' '  Indeed !  "  laughs  D'Arnac.     ' '  I  have  no  objection. " 

"Ah,  you  remember  the  child  ?  " 

"Yes,  as  a  child.  When  she  was  ten,  five  years 
ago.  She  said  she  hated  me,  because,  I  believe,  our 
matrimony  was  the  wish  of  both  families  then,  and  little 
Julie  had  already  begun  to  cultivate  wifely  feelings 
towards  me!"  sneers  Raymond,  so  easily  and  uncon- 
cernedly that  De  Moncrief  writhes  in  his  seat. 

"Well,  that's  what  Crevecceur  wants  to  see  you 
about!  "  mutters  the  old  schemer. 

Shortly  after,  dinner  being  finished,  the  two  sit  down 
together  to  smoke  Virginia  tobacco  out  of  long-stemmed 
clay  pipes. 

After  a  puff  or  two  Monsieur  de  Moncrief,  turning 
matters  over  in  his  mind,  suggests :  ' '  You  must  see  your 
ward  to-morrow,  my  dear  boy!  She  will  astonish  you! ' 

"Ah,  the  little  Quinault!  You  have  noticed  her 
lately  ?" 

"Once  at  Madame  de  Chateaubrien's,  and  then  she 
was  so  charming  that  I  have  visited  her  often  since  at 
the  convent.  She  is  no  longer  the  little  Quinault— she 


174  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

has  grown  tall,  and  of  a  loveliness  that  will  send  you,  her 
guardian,  wild  with  delight." 

And  the  old  gentleman  babbles  on  extolling  the  beau- 
ties of  this  young  woman,  who  is  just  graduating  from 
childhood,  so  vividly,  that  Raymond's  eyes  begin  to 
sparkle  at  the  charms  described  to  him.  So  Cousin 
Charlie  chuckles  to  himself:  "  Egad!  wait  till  he  sees 
her!  Then  perhaps  he  will  not  be  so  complaisant  in 
regard  to  the  little  Comtesse  Julie!  " 

This  brings  a  very  good  humor  upon  his  face  as  he 
cries:  "Now,  Raymond,  my  boy,  run  around  to  your 
quarters  on  the  Rue  Christine!  You  will  find  them 
lighted  and  awaiting  you.  Your  baggage  I  have 
already  ordered  there.  Make  your  toilet  a  la  general 
— prepare  to  conquer  at  the  bal  de  I' Opera,  and  I  will 
call  for  you  with  my  carriage  at  eleven  o'clock.  " 

Even  the  first  of  these  fetes  was  not  an  early  one, 
though  they  have  become  later  as  the  world  has  rolled  on. 

"Ah,  you  have  a  long  toilette  to  make  yourself!" 
laughs  Raymond,  perchance  maliciously,  as  the  old 
gentleman  is  known  to  devote  much  time  on  such  occa- 
sions in  simulating  the  appearance  of  boyhood. 

"  Tut!  tut!  an  affair  of  half  an  hour.  But  you  are 
a  little  more  vain  and  will  require  more  time,  Monsieur 
Epaulettes,"  grunts  the  Procureur. 

"Very  well,"  says  Raymond  heartily,  "I'll  do  my 
best  for  the  honor  of  the  army,"  and  goes  away  very 
gayly  and  buoyantly,  as  what  young  man  would  not 
after  three  years  of  camp  life,  to  array  himself  for  the 
bal  de  V Opera,  though  at  present  its  brilliance  is  only 
in  D'Arnac's  imagination — the  reality  is  to  come,  and 
with  it  a  meeting,  which  he  has  said  shall  never  happen, 
but  which  he  has  always  looked  forward  to. 

Perhaps  it  is  some  presentiment  of  this  that  comes  to 
him  while  he  is  dressing.  He  is  looking  carelessly  over 
his  baggage  in  search  of  a  lace  handkerchief  and  ruffles, 
fine  gentlemen. in  those  days  being  very  vain  in  these 
little  matters  of  personal  adornment,  and  wearing  as 
much  Point  de  Venice  as  any  court  beauty. 

In  doing  so,  he  comes  upon  a  package  of  letters  that 
bring  back  to  him  the  past;  they  are  from  O'Brien 
Dillon  and  Lanty  in  Vienna,  only  three  of  them, 
postage  being  high  and  couriers  seldom  in  those  days. 


A      PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  175 

The  first,  written  by  his  Irish  friend  in  answer  to  the  one 
D'Arnac  had  sent  describing  his  effort  to  replace 
Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  in  his  care.  He  glances  over 
it  and  blushes  as  he  reads  these  words: 

"  God  thank  you  for  what  you  have  done  for  me!  Though 
you  haven't  given  her  back  to  me,  I  imagine  she  is  all  right, 
as  they're  keeping  her  in  convents.  However,  I  thank  you 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  for  being  so  true  to  our  comrade- 
ship of  the  sword." 

This  has  been  forwarded  to  him  before  Dillon's 
first  campaign  against  the  Turks. 

Another  and  longer  one  is  in  Lanty's  handwriting, 
written  on  their  return  .to  the  Austrian  capital  from 
Eugene's  glorious  campaign  of  Peterawaradin,  in  which 
he  has  defeated  the  Ottoman  forces.  It  runs  along  in 
merry  Lanty's  light-hearted  way,  describing  the 
wondrous  plunder  they  have  got.  One  sentence  sets 
Raymond  laughing.  It  says: 

"  As  for  booty,  it  is  so  much  that  me  master  speaks  of  getting 
back  to  Paris  to  look  up  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon.  He  is  a 
general  now,  and,  faith,  he's  so  much  run  after  that  if  it  wasn't 
that  he  is  already  bound  by  the  priest  to  the  woman  in  France, 
I  think  he  might  be  after  marrying  a  royal  duchess,  and  as  for 
countesses,  he  might  have  a  harem  of  them  if  he  choose,  after 
the  manner  of  the  heathen  Turks." 

The  last  letter,  but  six  months  before,  had  met 
D'Arnac  just  before  he  left  the  Pyrenees,  for  epistles 
took  longer  in  these  days  to  come  from  Vienna  than 
they  would  to  go  round  the  world  now,  ends: 

"One  campaign'more  and  I  hope  to  have  plunder  enough 
to  come  back  and  clasp  your  hand  and  look  after  the  madame, 
if  the  Turks  don't  get  away  with  your  friend. 

"  O'BRIEN  DILLON." 

Pondering  on  this  matter,  Raymond  thinks  there 
should  be  an  epistle  from  him  even  now,  for  the  Turkish 

campaign  of  the  year  must  be  ended. 

I'-ut  from  this  IK-  gets  to  meditating  upon  O'Brien 
Dillon's  wife,  and  the  rare  loveliness  that  had  sal 
beside  him  in  the  carriage  in  that  wild  ride  out  of  Pans 
the  last  time  he  had  been  in  the  capital  : 


176  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"  If  Lass,  her  uncle,  is  here,  she  should  be  in  Paris 
also." 

His  thoughts  are  broken  in  upon  by  the  footman  of 
Monsieur  le  Procureur  coming  upstairs  and  announcing 
that  his  master  is  at  the  door  in  his  carriage,  and  begs 
his  cousin  will  not  keep  him  waiting  in  the  cold. 

Raymond  hurries  down  to  take  his  place  beside 
his  relative,  who  is  cloaked  and  furred  up  to  his  very 
eyes. 

As  they  drive  away,  De  Moncrief  directing  his  coach- 
man to  take  the  Quai  de  Conti  and  to  cross  the  river 
by  the  Pont  Royal,  and  so  avoid  the  great  crowd  of 
carriages  that  will  be  coming  from  the  city  pfoper 
along  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  Raymond  suddenly  queries: 
"  You  are  intimate  with  Monsieur  Lass  ?  " 

"Certainly;  I  know  him  very  well.  A  man  of  the 
greatest  financial  genius — the  longest  head  in  the 
whole  world,  I  think.  Egad !  money  seems  to  spring 
from  his  brain  as  easily  as  ideas!  "  remarks  De  Moncrief, 
and  means  it,  for  he  has  been  very  much  impressed 
with  the  Scotch  financier's  genius  and  tremendous 
grasp  of  commercial  affairs. 

, "  You  are  intimate  at  his  house  as  well  as  his  bank  ?  " 
suggests  Raymond. 

"Certainly, as  a  man  of  rank  1  have  thought  it  best  to 
give  Lass  the  countenance  of  my  presence  socially," 
replies  the  Procureur. 

"Then  have  you  ever  chanced  to  meet  his  niece, 
Madame  O'Brien  Dillon  ?  " 

At  which  Cousin  Charlie,  to  Raymond's  embarrass- 
ment, giggles :  "I  thought  young  Wild  Blood  was  coming 
to  that!  Pardieu  !  you  mean  the  young  lady  who  got  you 
into  all  that  trouble  when  you  were  here  last.  Sapristi  ! 
De  Conti  hates  you  still;  and  as  for  the  Regent — " 
Here  he  checks  himself  with  a  gulp. 

"The  Regent — what  of  him  ?  " 

"Oh,  nothing,  but  he  admires  pretty  faces  as  well  as 
you,"  answers  De  Moncrief. 

"Yes,  Madame  de  Sabran's  I  have  heard,"  returns 
Raymond,  mentioning  the  name  of  a  lady  about  whose 
beauty  Paris  was  beginning  to  rave,  and  to  whom  was 
attributed  by  public  rumor  the  doubtful  honor  of  being 
the  Due  d'Orleans'  latest  belle  amte." 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  177 

"  Madame  de  Sabran !  "  ejaculates  Cousin  Charlie,  a 
kind  of  unholy  glee  coming  into  his  sharp  eyes. 

"Of  course,  the  divine  Madame  de  Sabran;  the  one 
every  man  is  charmed  by  and  every  woman  envious  of. 
Poor  De  Courcy,  of  my  command,  came  back  to  the 
Pyrenees  in  love  with  her,  though  he  had  only  seen  her 
in  her  carriage.  Perhaps  she  will  be  at  the  ball — point 
her  out  tome,  "gossips  Raymond  contentedly. 

"Madame  de  Sabran!  "  mutters  De  Moncrief, " yes, 
perchance  we'll  see  her  at  the  ball,  "then  buries  his  face 
in  his  fur  cloak  as  if  trying  to  stifle  some  hysterical 
emotion.  A  moment  after  he  says  suddenly  and  seriously : 
"  I'm  sorry  my  advice  got  you  into  that  escapade  with 
pretty  Madame  Dillon ;  still  I  would  have  done  the  like 
for  a  friend  myself,  though  your  motives  were  grossly 
misunderstood." 

After  a  second's  silence,  D'Arnac,  whose  mind  has 
got  now  to  running  on  his  friend,  asks  suddenly:  "Is 
there  any  news  from  the  Danube  ?  " 

"From  Prince  Eugene?"  says  the  Procureur 
"The  greatest!"  Then  he  goes  on  earnestly  under 
his  breath:  "  Not  a  word  of  this,  for  it  is  being  kept 
very  quiet  for  financial  reasons  by  Monsieur  Lass  and 
myself.  A  courier  from  Vienna  has  just  brought  private 
intelligence  that  Prince  Eugene  has  annihilated  the 
Turkish  hosts  before  Belgrade,  and  captured  that  city — 
the  greatest  victory  Christendom  has  ever  had  over  the 
Ottoman!  They  are  now  suing  wildly  for  peace." 

"And  my  friend,  O'Brien  Dillon?"  asks  D'Arnac, 
hastily. 

"  There  was  no  further  details,  save  that  the  Austrian 
losses  were  very  heavy,  as  the  courier  that  reached 
Vienna  was  nearly  a  month  getting  there.  The  roads 
were  awful  and  infested  by  skirmishing  parties  of  light 
Tartar  horse  the  Turks  had  thrown  out  in  advance  all 
over  the  country.  Don't  say  a  word  of  this — it  is  still 
private!  I  doubt  even  if  the  Ottoman  Ambassador 
knows  of  the  misfortune  of  his  country.  But  here  we 
are  at  the  Palais  Royal.  Put  your  head  out  of  the 
carriage — look  at  the  crowds — the  excitement — the 
flambeaux  of  the  footmen — is  it  not  glorious  ?  I  and 
Lass  have  been  the  making  of  Paris!"  remarks  De- 
Moncrief,  with  a  very  self-satisfied  air. 


178  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

Thinking  to  himself,  if  Eugene  has  been  victorious, 
probably  O'Brien  Dillon  is  all  right,  D'Arnac  obeys  his 
relative's  instructions,  and  sees  a  sight  the  like  of  which 
has  never  been  seen  in  the  capital  of  France  before, 
though  many  similar  ones  will  come  after — the  nobles 
and  bourgeoisie  mixed  in  common  fete. 

They  are  at  the  corner  of  the  Rues  St.  Thomas  du 
Louvre  and  St.  Honore  and  are  meeting  the  great  string 
of  equipages  coming  along  the  latter  thoroughfare 
towards  the  Palais  Royal,  the  facade  of  which  is  illu- 
minated for  the  occasion. 

This  Palais  Royal  is  a  building  of  magnificent  dimen- 
sions, built  by  the  great  Richelieu,  not  only  for  his 
own  home,  but  also  for  the  home  of  dramatic  art. 

It  is  an  edifice  of  wonderful  extent,  but  rambling,  and 
of  unequal  height  at  different  places ;  over  the  grand 
entrance  it  is  but  two  stories  in  elevation,  but  rises  three 
more  in  the  form  of  a  great  mansard  roof  over  the 
theatre  that  is  now  used  as  the  home  of  the  opera. 

The  front  of  the  pile  is  on  the  Rue  St.  Honore, 
running  the  entire  distance  between  the  street  called 
Des  Bonnes  Enfants  and  the  Rue  Richelieu.  Along 
these  two  streets  it  runs  back  to  magnificent  gardens 
formed  for  the  pleasure  of  the  Cardinal.  Like  its 
founder's  mind,  the  building  is  grandly  enormous. 

Two  theatres — a  small  one  holding  but  six  hundred 
people,  for  private  representations  before  the  court 
— a  larger  one  capable  of  seating  over  three  thousand, 
for  the  delectation  of  the  more  general  public,  by 
his  comedians  of  the  Comedie  Franfaise,  are  swal- 
lowed up  and  veritably  almost  lost  in  the  grand  pile  of 
buildings,  without  apparently  intrenching  upon  their 
numerous  suites  of  magnificent  apartments  and  great 
courtyards  for  sunshine  and  pleasure,  for  Armand  de 
Richelieu  never  did  anything  meanly,  and  his  great 
building,  called  by  him  the  "Palais  Cardinal,"  was 
worthy  of  his  grandeur  and  his  power. 

The  great  theatre  of  the  building,  originally  devoted 
to  the  Comedie  Frain;aise,  is  now  known  as  "The 
Opera."  It  is  to  the  entrance  of  this,  on"  the 
corner  of  the  Rue  St.  Honore  and  the  Rue  des 
Bonnes  Enfants,  to  which  the  carriage  of  Charles  de 
Moncrief  is  being  driven,  though  it  does  not  arrive 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  179 

there  for  some  considerable  time,  as  the  line  of 
carriages  ahead  of  it  is  very  long. 

But  Raymond  hardly  notices  the  delay,  the  sight 
before  him  is  so  novel.  Dashing  equipages  of 
the  court  are  mixed  with  the  humbler  carriages 
of  rich  silversmiths  and  bourgeoisie,  who  now- 
dare  to  put  on  the  evidences  of  wealth.  These, 
surrounded  by  lackeys  and  flunkeys  carrying  blazing 
torches,  and  the  brilliant  feu  de  joie  in  wax  lights  on 
the  facade  of  the  theatre,  all  give  vivacity,  interest 
and  illumination  to  the  scene. 

Engaged  in  looking  at  this,  even  as  he  leaves  the 
carriage,  Raymond  scarce  notices  his  companion  until 
they  arrive  in  one  of  the  waiting-rooms.  Here, 
surrounded  by  various  others  in  fancy  costumes,  who 
are  doffing  their  wraps  and  robes,  for  the  night  is 
chilly,  D'Arnac  first  turns  his  eyes  on  the  old  Procur- 
eur  du  Roy,  and  for  the  life  of  him  cannot  help  giving 
a  wild  scream  of  laughter  and  falling,  overcome,  into  a 
neighboring  chair. 

For,  as  his  furs  have  been  taken  off,  Charles  de 
M®ncrief,  in  all  the  decrepitude  of  age,  steps  out  of  his 
wraps,  his  wig  tied  up  in  bows  of  pink  silk  ribbons,  his 
toothless  mouth  grinning  with  pleasure,  his  wrinkled 
cheeks  contorted  into  what  he  thinks  a  boyish  smile,  his 
senile  body  attired  in  flesh-colored  tights  and  shaking 
a  pair  of  tiny  silver  wings,  and  holding  up  a  little  bow 
and  arrows,  takes  infant  pose  upon  the  floor  and  cries: 
"Behold  me,  Cupid — God  of  Youth  and  Love!"  trying 
to  look  as  cunning  as  the  imp  himself. 

The  effect  is  enormous  and  general,  the  gentlemen 
standing  by  fairly  shrieking  with  merriment. 

"  Diable!  what  amuses  you  ?  "  mutters  the  Procureur, 
his  face  under  its  paint  and  powder  assuming  so  wizened 
and  vindictive  an  expression  that  it  adds  to  the  merri- 
ment, especially  as  he  gives  one  or  two  skips  of  rage, 
which  make  his  little  wings  flap  fairylike  in  the  air. 

" Mon  Diei<!"  shouts  De  Conti,  who  has  just  come 
in  with  his  pal,  the  Due  de  Guiche  and  Monsieur 
d'Argenson,  now  raised  to  the  office  of  Keeper  of  the 
Seals,  behind  them. 

"  By  the  soul  of  Bacchus,  if  this  is  not  little  De  Mon- 
crief!  Cupid — fair  Cupid?"  he  cries,  and  as  wine  has 


I  So  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

made  him  forget  his  rank,  and  he  rejoices  in  great 
animal  strength,  this  prince  of  the  blood  takes  up  little 
Charlie,  and  tossing  him  on  his  shoulder,  dances  round 
the  room,  crying:  "Old  Cupid  and  young  Venus!" 
nursing  him  after  the  manner  of  a  baby,  and  going 
through  several  other  grotesque  antics,  as  the  crowd  of 
nobles  hold  their  sides  with  merriment,  and  even 
Monsieur  Peltier,  the  silversmith,  who  has  come  timidly 
into  the  ball,  dares  to  laugh  at  the  joke  of  one  of  the 
princes  of  the  blood. 

A  moment  after,  De  Moncrief  is  let  down  from  the 
arms  of  his  tormenter,  .and  he  scowls  no  more,  laughing 
himself  at  the  Prince  de  Conti's  joke. 

But  for  all  that,  Louis  Armand  de  Bourbon,  prince  of 
the  house  of  Conti,  has  danced  a  very  bad  pas  seul  for 
himself,  this  evening,  though  he  doesn't  know  it;  and 
Monsieur  d'Argenson,  proud  in  his  new  rank,  by  his 
jeers  and  laughter  has  done  a  very  bad  turn  for  himself, 
and  had  better — if  he  but  guessed  it — as  he  is  yet  the 
Lieutenant  General  de  Police,  abduct,  imprison,  and 
close  out  from  the  light  of  day,  Charles  de  Moncrief, 
the  Procureur  du  Roy,  for  Cupid  has  no  longer  love  in 
his  soul — but  hate,  malignant  hate  for  these  two  merry 
gentlemen — though  he  will  try  and  forget  it  in  the 
bright  eyes  and  playful  flatteries  of  the  ladies  of  the 
bal  de  r Opera  this  evening. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE    FIRST    BAL    DE    L'OPERA. 

As  IT  TAKES  some  time  for  Cousin  Charlie  to  re-arrange 
his  wings  and  smooth  his  locks  that  are  tied  by  deli- 
cate pink  ribbon,  the  prince  of  the  blood  and  most  of 
the  surrounding  crowd  stroll  into  the  main  portion  of 
the  theatre,  while  Raymond  stands  waiting  for  Cupid  to 
regain  his  charms. 

Then  together  they  enter  the  great  auditorium,  which 
has  been  floored  over  from  the  stage  and  made  into  a 
vast  ballroom,  De  Moncrief  laughing  and  passing  off 
the  affair,  saying:  " Pardieu  !  Cousin,  probably  1  am 
the  only  man  in  Paris  De  Conti  would  feel  sufficiently 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  l8l 

intimate  with  to  take  such  liberties.  It  is  not  every 
one  a  prince  of  the  blood  would  do  duty  for  as  a 
carrier  !  "  and  similar  other  remarks  expressive  of  his 
delight  at  the  performance  of  the  wild,  boisterous  and 
wine-filled  De  Conti. 

But  the  sight  opening  before  Raymond  makes  him 
hardly  heed  the  words  of  any  one.  It  is  as  if  he  had 
come  into  a  new  and  enchanted  land. 

The  two  rows  of  boxes  are  draped  and  adorned  in 
various  colors  and  most  fanciful  designs.  The  superb 
ceiling  covered  with  groups  of  angels  and  goddesses, 
by  the  hand  of  Monsieur  Watteau,  is  made  more  brilliant 
by  the  flags  of  France.  The  whole  scene  is  lighted  as 
if  it  were  day  by  innumerable  wax  tapers  kept  burning 
brightly  by  one  hundred  flunkeys  with  trays  and  snuffers. 

Underneath  this  illumination,  a  sea  of  figures, 
costumed  perhaps  not  so  correctly  as  to-day,  because 
even  the  dress  of  the  theatre  proper  was  at  this  time 
incomplete,  and  sometimes  Jupiter  or  Julius  Caesar 
were  played  by  gentlemen  in  knee  breeches  and  perri- 
wigs,  while  Cleopatra  hesitated  not  to  appear  arrayed 
in  hoop  skirt  and  demi- train. 

For  all  that,  the  dashing  crowd  makes  a  great  show 
of  color,  of  kaleidoscopic  rapidity  of  movement,  but  with 
more  than  the  beauty  of  the  kaleidoscope,  because  within 
this  sea  of  changing  hues  are  the  bright  faces  of  lovely 
women  and  the  handsome  figures  of  dashing  men. 

There  is  a  great  display  in  the  costumes  of  Watteau ; 
shepherdesses  with  their  crooks,  and  gods  and  goddesses 
in  silk  fleshings  and  the  armor  of  ancient  Greece, 
Cupid  and  Venus  and  Jupiter  and  Apollo  being  great 
favorites  in  all  the  ballets  of  that  time. 

Most  of  them  are  circling  in  the  dance,  not  the  wild 
can-can  of  to-day,  to  the  sprightly  yet  voluptuous  music 
of  Offenbach,  but  in  the  stately  menuet  de  la  coitr,  to 
the  soft  numbers  of  Luilli  and  Mouret,  from  a  band  that 
gives  forth  its  melodies  with  the  strings  of  Cremona, 
the  harps  of  minstrelsy,  the  lutes  and  soft  wood- 
wind instruments  that  belonged  to  the  orchestras  of 
that  day. 

At  first,  Raymond's  eyes  devour  this  great  scene  as  a 
whole — then  individually  and  in  groups,  as  the  Procureur 
du  Roy,  anxious  to  show  his  knowledge  of  every  one 


1 82  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

notable  in  France,  begins  to  point  out  celebrities. 
They  have  strolled  half  round  the  room  when  he 
suddenly  seizes  D'Arnac's  arm  and  says:  "There!  do 
you  see  him  ?  " 

"Who?" 

"  Monsieur  Lass!  " 

"No!  where?"  whispers  Raymond,  anxious  to  see 
the  "Uncle  Johnny"  of  his  friend  O'Brien  Dillon. 

"There!  The  tall  distinguished  man  with  the  sharp 
nose  and  handsome  figure  and  bright  eyes.  The  one 
standing  in  the  Regent's  box  alongside  of  Monsieur 
d'Orleans!" 

Raymond  knows  the  Regent  by  sight,  and  looking 
towards  the  large  box  which  has  the  arms  of  France 
upon  it,  he  sees  standing  beside  the  man  who  holds 
the  destinies  of  the  country  in  his  hands,  the  man 
who  is  destined  to  hold  the  finances  of  Europe  within 
his  grasp. 

"Uncle  Johnny"  is,  as  De  Moncrief  has  described 
him,  tall,  with  very  handsome  eyes,  prominent  nose, 
thin  but  determined  lips,  and  the  brow  of  a  mathema- 
tician. He  has  the  face  of  a  man  who  might  have 
invented  the  binomial  theorem  or  the  calculus,  were  it 
not  the  face  of  a  man  who  would  not  be  contented  to 
starve  over  pure  mathematics  in  a  garret,  but  rather 
one  who  loves  the  luxuries  of  life — the  excitement  of 
play — and  the  grand  battle  of  humanity. 

He  is  standing  just  behind  the  Regent.  Before  him, 
as  their  rank  give  them  precedence,  but  at  his  right, 
lounge  the  Princes  De  Conde  and  De  Conti,  cousins 
of  France,  but  rivals  in  getting  all  they  can  out  of  France, 
and  both  very  anxious  to  make  themselves  agreeable  to 
Monsieur  Lass,  whom  they  have  already  utilized  much 
to  the  benefit  of  their  depleted  purses. 

All  the  gentlemen  are  chuckling  over  De  Conti's 
description  of  what  he  has  done  with  little  Moncrief  the 
Cupid. 

' '  Morbleu  !  "  remarks  the  Prince.  ' '  Even  old  Peltier, 
the  silversmith,  could  not  refrain  from  having  his  grin 
at  Monsieur  le  Procureur.  This  is  a  very  fine  idea 
of  yours,  Monsieur  Lass — this  mixture  of  the  rabble 
and  the  nobles.  It  may  give  me  a  better  grip  at  old 
Silversmith's  purse,  if  I  smack  him  on  the  shoulder.  He 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  183 

is  walking  over  there."  Arid  he  strolls  off  in  pursuit  of 
poor  old  Peltier  upon  whom  he  proposes  to  throw  the 
light  of  his  semi-royal  countenance,  in  order  to  touch 
him  for  as  large  a  loan  as  possible. 

This  leaves  Monsieur  Lass  with  D'Orleans  and  De 
Conde". 

His  Highness  is  pleased  to  be  very  affable  this  even- 
ing. He  says  lightly:  "  Cond6,  where  is  Madame  la 
Princess  ? " 

"  Parbleu,  your  Highness,  she  is  at  home  with  the 
children!"  replies  that  Prince.  "This  is  hardly  the 
proper  place  for  my  wife." 

"Especially,"  chuckles  D'Orleans,  "as  I  see  Madame 
de  Prie  ogling  you  from  the  box  opposite." 

"Ah,  Madeline  there!  I  didn't  suppose  she  was 
coming  so  early.  Then  if  your  Highness  will  permit  I'll 
take  my  leave!  " 

"Yes,  till  supper.  Don't  forget,  Conde",  bring  De 
Prie  with  you !  You,  Monsieur  Lass,  I  hope,  will  join 
us  also,  with  any  lady  you  please." 

"Thanks,  your  Highness, "  replies  the  financier,  "I 
will  bring  with  me,  with  your  permission,  Madame  de 
Locmaria. " 

"  Delighted!  "  remarks  D'Orleans.  "There  will  be 
but  a  few  more.  After  supper  we  will  have  a  little  play 
with  the  markers  you  have  so  kindly  invented  to  save 
us  gamblers  the  trouble  of  counting  money.  I  have 
already  invited  Madame  de  Sabran ;  without  her  our 
feast  would  be  indeed  a  famine !  "  and  the  Regent's  eyes 
light  up  with  passion. 

"Yes,  Hilda  told  me!"  assents  Lass.  Then  he 
suddenly  says:  "In  regard  to  that  Moncrief  matter? 
This  affair  will  make  him  surely,  if  I  judge  him 
right,  De  Conti's  enemy — that  probably  means  our 
enemy — and  we  want  all  to  be  our  friends  now,  your 
Highness!  "  adds  Lass  quite  seriously. 

"Pooh!  I'll  fix  Moncrief!  "  laughs  D'Orleans. 

"How?" 

"I'll  invite  him  to  supper  with  me  to-night.  An 
invitation  from  the  Regent  will  please  his  pride  more 
than  De  Conti's  joke  hurt  it;  eh,  my  financier!" 

' '  It  will  make  our  little  Moncrief  love  you  as  his  God !  " 
whispers  Lass. 


184  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"Better  than  his  God,  1  hope!"  jeers  the  Duke, 
"otherwise  I  shall  be  no  great  favorite  of  my 
Procureur!  But  come  on  the  floor,  Lass,  the  ladies 
and  gentlemen  down  there  are  all  hoping  you  will  make 
them  rich!  " 

After  one  good  look  Raymond  has  not  paid  much 
attention  to  the  royal  box.  Some  very  pretty  young 
ladies  have  intruded  themselves  on  General  Epaulettes, 
as  they  call  him,  and  he  is  at  present  dancing  a  minuet 
with  a  sprightly  Watteau  shepherdess.  The  young 
Comte  de  Horn,  a  weary  look  on  his  dissipated  face, 
is  at  his  right  with  a  beautiful,  but  half  nude  Venus, 
while  immediately  opposite  to  him  De  Moncrief,  as 
Cupid,  is  skipping  grotesquely  in  company  with  the 
dashing  danseuse  la  belle  Prevost. 

Everybody  is  warming  to  the  scene. 

The  dance  goes  on,  but  wilder;  flirtations  spring  up 
and  champagne  changes  them  to  love. 

The  ball  becomes  gayer  .and  madder,  for  wine  is  now 
making  bright  eyes  look  brighter,  and  merry  laughs 
louder,  and  dashing  steps  more  audacious,  and  the 
affair  is  gradually  reaching  the  elan  and  carnival  of  a 
true  bal  de  f  Opera  when  Raymond,  bidding  adieu  to  his 
partner  of  the  dance,  chances  to  glance  at  one  of  the 
boxes  of  the  first  row  and  sees  a  lady  who,  though  she 
is  masked,  brings  him  recollection. 

Perchance  it  is  her  glance  that  has  drawn  his,  for 
while  he  has  been  dancing  this  lady,  cloaked,  hooded, 
masked  and  dominoed,  has  been  gazing  at  him  as  if  he 
were  the  one  man  of  the  ball;  perhaps  it  is  something  in 
her  figure — some  trick  of  gesture — but  he  remembers. 

Champagne  effaces  resolution.  He  thinks  now  but 
of  love  and  joy.  It  may  not  be  she,  but  he  does  not 
care — she  is  certainly  beautiful — the  privilege  of  a  mask 
— why  not  take  it  ? 

He  is  at  the  staircase  in  a  moment  jostling  his  way 
through  the  crowd,  but  gaining  the  box,  he  finds  it 
empty. 

A  domino  is  vanishing  into  a  neighboring  loge. 

After  it! 

A  couple  of  lackeys  attempt  to  stay  him.  He 
does  not  note  their  royal  liveries,  and,  pushing  them 
aside,  steps  into  the  royal  box  of  France,  to  find  himself 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  185 

confronted  by  a  lady,  who,  apparently  safe  from  intru- 
sion, has  just  thrown  away  her  domino  and  mask. 

To  her  he  gasps:    "  Madame  O'Mrien  Dillon!  " 

"  Hush  !  "  Her  taper  finger  is  on  her  red  lips.  She 
whispers:  "Not  Madame  ( )'Brien  Dillon  now.  Hilda 
— to  you.  I  cannot  talk  to  you  now — but  I  remember." 

Her  words  are  flashing  as  her  beauty,  which  dazzles 
him,  for  she  is  in  a  costume  that  makes  her  too  lovely 
for  the  eyes  of  man  to  look  on  sentiently.  She  seems 
to  Raymond's  fascinated  senses  a  thing  that  is  not  of 
this  world — her  beauty  is  too  spiritual. 

Her  dress  is  white  that  floats  about  her  yet  clings  to 
her  and  shows  that  she  who  was  a  Hebe  has  now 
become  a  Venus.  One  little  foot  in  white  silken 
stocking  and  satin  slipper  is  advanced  towards  him. 
One  white  arm  on  which  are  flashing  diamonds  of 
purest  water  and  brightest  rays  is  stretched  to  him.  A 
single  ruby  red  as  blood  flames  on  her  snowy  breast, 
but  it  is  not  as  red  as  lips  which  speak  these  words: 
"  I  have  your  address — I  have  just  discovered  your  ar- 
rival in  Paris — you  have  been  kept  from  me  by  those 
who  have  more  power  than  I — a  note  to-morrow !  " 

"  No,  no!  "  he  gasps  hoarsely. 

"Why  not?" 

"My  friend " 

"That  need  not  come  between  us.  He  no  longer 
lives!  " 

"O'Brien  Dillon  dead?" 

"  Yes.  He  fell  at  the  battle  of  Belgrade.  I  have 
had  sure  news  from  a  trusted  agent  in  Vienna.  There 
is  no  doubt.  Don't  let  the  dead  efface  the  living!  " 

He  tries  to  struggle  against  her  charm,  but  the  wild 
beauty  is  the  same  as  that  he  clasped  to  his  heart  three 
years  before  as  he  rode  mid  the  raging  torrent  of  the 
Marne. 

"  Don't  let  the  dead  efface  the  living — a  note  to-mor- 
row! Don't  speak  of  me  as  Madame  O'Brien  Dillon. 
Don't  whisper  you  have  seen  me,  for  I  am  now  known." 
She  glides  to  the  entrance  and  opens  a  portftre,  leading 
not  to  the  ballroom,  but  direct  to  the  Regent's  Palace. 

The  young  man  steps  towards  her  as  if  to  bar  her 
way,  his  (laming  eyes  speaking  words  his  lips  cannot 
bring  themselves  to  utter. 


186  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

She  courtesies  to  him  and  whispers:  "Yes;  do  not 
hate  me.  They  compelled  me — ambition  dictated  it! 
I  am  now  known  as  Madame  deSabran.  A  .note  to-mor- 
row  !  ' ' 

At  the  word  Raymond  sinks,  overcome  in  the  box, 
for  it  is  the  name  of  the  wondrous  beauty  who,  rumor 
says,  holds  France  almost  in  her  hand,  for  she  has  its 
Regent's  heart.  He  mutters  to  himself:  "This  was 
what  they  kept  her  for.  This  is  why  they  dare  not  let 
O'Brien  Dillon  come  to  Paris.  This  is  the  bait  by 
which  Monsieur  Lass  has  bought  the  Regent's  favor 
and  the  right  to  govern  the  finances  of  France." 

A  moment  after  these  two  shocks  drive  the  wine  from 
his  brain.  He  leaves  the  royal  box  murmuring:  "  My 
God!  my  friend,  dead — killed  by  the  Turks!  "  brushing 
past  the  Procureur  du  Roy,  whom  he  scarce  notices, 
such  is  his  agitation,  but  who  regards  his  departing  cousin 
with  a  cynical  and  snickering  smile. 

Then  a  set  look  comes  on  D'Arnac's  face  as  he  gazes 
upon  the  ballroom  floor,  and  says:  "  There  is  an 
accursed  Ottoman  now!  "  for  he  thinks  he  sees  the 
Ambassador  of  the  Sublime  Porte,  as  a  creature  robed  in 
the  costume  of  a  Turkish  vizier,  sparkling  with  jewels, 
with  scimeter  and  dagger  blazing  with  diamonds, 
attended  by  a  gigantic  Nubian  slave,  and  followed  by  a 
couple  of  mutes,  is  passing  in  triumph  up  the  room,  and 
every  one  is  gazing  at  his  haughty  bearing  and  savage 
mien. 

"Why not  pick  a  quarrel  with  this  representative  of 
the  Infidel  and  avenge  my  friend  ?  "  thinks  D'Arnac, 
impetuously,  and  hurriedly  descends  to  the  floor,  there 
to  be  astounded,  the  very  soul  taken  out  of  him  with 
intense  surprise,  rapture,  astonishment,  for  as  he  walks 
threateningly  up  to  the  gorgeous  figure,  a  genuine  Irish 
brogue  greets  him:  "By  me  soul,  Raymond,  me  boy! 
Begorra,  I've  come  back  both  general  and  count  from 
the  Turks!  " 

And  he  sees  standing  before  him  his  old  comrade  of 
the  Rhine  campaign — the  man  who  had  saved  his  life — 
the  husband  of  the  woman  who  has  just  said  to  him : 
"A  note  to-morrow  !  " — O'Brien  Dillon,  once  colonel  in 
the  army  of  France,  but  now  count  of  the  Empire — and 
general  in  the  Austrian  service. 


A     PRINCESS    OF    PARIS.  187 

"  By  me  soul,  Lanty,  me  boy,  is  not  this  a  glorious 
coming  home  ?  First,  me  friend,  and  then  soon  I'll 
have  me  wife  !  These  diamonds  are  genuine,  Raymond, 
me  boy — plunder  from  the  Turks  !  Faith,  I  captured 
the  Grand  Vizier  myself — a  ransom  of  eighty  thousand 
ducats,  and  by  Saint  Patrick!  I've  got  the  Horse-tails — 
the  genuine  article — taken  in  front  of  the  Vizier's 
pavilion.  Wave  the  Horse-tails,  Lanty,  ye  divil,  and 
show  the  French  they're  the  real  thing." 

With  wild  cries  of  triumph  Lanty  waves  the  five 
Horse-tails  of  the  Grand  Vizier  of  the  Turkish  Empire, 
and  these  are  proved  to  be  genuine,  for  the  Ottoman 
Ambassador  himself,  seeing  the  sacred  insignia  of 
the  Sublime  Porte — the  thing  only  granted  to  the 
commanders  of  the  armies  of  the  Allah,  comes  up, 
thinking  it  is  some  great  countryman  of  his — perhaps 
some  successor  sent  to  take  his  place;  for  in  those  days 
of  long  travel,  sometimes  instructions  were  not  sent  in 
advance  to  ministers  or  plenipotentiaries. 

Beholding  the  signal  of  the  power  of  Mahomet  waving 
in  triumph,  as  he  thinks,  and  not  having  heard  news  of 
the  awful  fate  of  the  armies  of  his  faith,  he  cries:  "Bish- 
mael  !  Allah  be  praised  !  It  means  the  victory  of  the 
Ottoman  ! " 

And  forgetting  the  place,  he  makes  obeisance  and 
does  homage  before  it,  until  Lanty  gives  a  wild  shriek, 
crying  :  "  Yes,  victory  of  the  Christians  !  Those 
Horse-tails  I  seized  from  the  Vizier  himself  !  It  means 
the  Turks  have  lost  one  hundred  thousand  men,  and 
have  been  beaten  out  of  their  very  harems  by  Prince 
Eugene  of  Savoy,  when  he  captured  Belgrade  !  " 

At  this  sudden  and  fearful  disclosure  of  his  country's 
downfall  and  terrible  military  disaster,  the  Turkish 
Ambassador,  with  a  hoarse  cry  of  horror  and  despair, 
flies  from  the  room  amid  the  laughter  of  the  gods 
and  goddesses  and  nymphs  and  shepherdesses  of 
the  bal  de  /'O/>era,  who  now  go  to  dancing  a  wild 
sanibande  that  does  duty  in  that  clay  for  the  can-can  of 
Mabille. 

"  By  Saint  Patrick!  he's  not  the  first  Turk  that  has 
fled  before  us,  eh  Lanty  ?  "  laughs  O'Brien. 

"Musha!  I'm  accustomed  to  seeing  the  beasts' 
backs,"  grins  Lanty.  "  If  it  were  not  for  the  meddling 


1 88  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

police  outside,  I  would  follow  the  unbeliever  and  plunder 
him  of  his  diamonds,  from  very  force  of  habit." 

"I've  done  well,  haven't  I,  my  boy  ?"  says  .Dillon, 
turning  to  D'Arnac,  who  is  still  speechless  from 
the  shock  of  astonishment  caused  by  the  return  of  this 
man,  his  old  friend  and  comrade,  whose  wife  has  but 
three  minutes  before  whispered  in  his  ear:  "A  note 
to-morrow!  " 

"  Well  ?  "  echoes  Raymond,  forced  to  speech,  "  Enor- 
mous! "  gazing  in  admiration  at  Eastern  garments 
studded  with  magnificent  jewels,  and  a  turban  that 
literally  blazes  with  diamonds  in  the  form  of  a  great 
crescent  and  lesser  star.  Then  a  sudden  thought  flies 
through  him:  "Thank  God,  I  can  still  look  my  friend 
in  the  face!  "  and  D'Arnac  springs  forward  to  seize  the 
outstretched  hand  of  his  comrade  of  the  sword,  and 
receive  his  grip  of  welcome. 

"  Faith,  I  captured  the  Grand  Vizier  myself,  and  with 
my  own  hands  tore  off  this  magnificent  uniform, "  laughs 
O'Brien  ;  and  would  enter  into  an  extended  conversa- 
tion with  his  friend  did  not  at  this  moment  a  crowd  of 
pretty  young  goddesses  surge  round  them,  and  force 
them  apart,  crying:  "Hurrah!  for  a  dance  with  the 
Diamond  Pasha!  " 

"I  always  accommodate  ladies.  It's  an  Irishman's 
habit,  even  in  Turkish  garb — me  little  odalisques!" 
replies  Dillon,  and  gives  each  one  of  the  beseeching 
fair  ones  a  step  or  two  on  his  stalwart  arm. 

But  getting  away  from  these,  he  puts  his  hand  upon 
D'Arnac's  shoulder  in  such  a  brotherly  way,  that  the 
young  man's  conscience  pricks  him  very  hard,  and  says: 
"I  have  got '  lots  to  tell  you,  Raymond,  me  boy. 
Supposing  we  go  home  together,  so  I  can  do  it  over  a 
pipe." 

D'Arnac  assenting  to  this,  as  the  ball  is  now  draw- 
ing to  its  close,  the  two  make  preparations  for 
departure,  Raymond  insisting  that  his  friend  and  old 
comrade  shall  make  his  quarters  with  him  in  the  Rue 
Christine. 

"Agreed;  Lanty  will  look  after  getting  my  baggage 
from  our  inn.  We  only  arrived  in  town  this  evening, 
just  in  time  to  display  our  fine  selves.  I  thought  I'd 
find  you  here,  if  you  were  in  Paris.  Those  two  fellows 


A     PRINCESS     ()K     I'AklS.  189 

dressed  as  mutes, ^foljpw.igg  behind  me,  are  a  couple  of 
gardens  I  hired  for  the  occasion,  to  give  me  greater 
dignity,  and  by  Saint  Patrick!  I  think  Lanty  and  1  have 
made  a  sensation!" 

As  indeed  they  have,  a  crowd  following  them  every- 
where. 

' '  I  will  be  with  you  in  a  moment !  "  .answers  Raymond. 
"Just  a  word  to  my  cousin,"  and  departs  in  search  of 
De  Moncrief,  to  find  Cupid  in  most  happy  mood,  the 
fire  of  social  triumph  in  his  twinkling  eyes. 

"  I  am  glad  you  can  get  home  without  me,"  remarks 
Cousin  Charlie,  "as  I  have  received  a  most  pressing 
invitation  to  sup  with  the  Regent.  Royal  invitations 
must  be  accepted.  D'Orleans  made  it  a  personal 
matter  with  me.  That  is  your  friend,  Colonel  O'Brien 
Dillon,  just  returned,  rumor  says,  from  Vienna  and  the 
battle  of  Belgrade  ? "  he  whispers,  inquiringly,  fight- 
ing down  a  chuckle  as  he  looks  at  the  Irish  officer, 
who  is  still  strutting  about  and  making  great  display 
of  himself  to  the  throng  that  have  followed  him  even  to 
the  door  of  the  ball  room. 

"General  Dillon,  Comte  of  the  Empire,"  corrects 
Raymond,  who  feels  proud  of  his  friend's  success. 

"Humph!  a  general  and  a  count — with  lots  of 
diamonds  and  plunder — I  observe,''  returns  De  Moncrief. 

"Any  quantity  of  them.  He  captured  the  Grand 
Vizier  himself, "  cries  D' Arnac,  proudly,  and  goes  away  to 
take  the  arm  of  Comte  Dillon  of  the  Imperial  service. 

Whereupon  the  two,  going  out  of  the  theatre,  succeed, 
by  Lanty's  aid,  in  getting  hold  of  a  carriage,  and 
drive  off  to  Raymond's  apartments  to  finish  the  night 
over  their  pipes,  in  discussing  O'Brien's  triumphs  and 
adventures  in  Vienna  and  among  the  Turks. 

De  Moncrief  gazes  after  them.  His  cynical  mind 
puts  together  the  interview  he  knows  his  cousin  has  had 
with  the  Irish  officer's  wife  in  the  box,  the  last  words  of 
which  he  had  caught:  "A  note  to-morrow' 

Then,  for  he  has  been  studying  the  face  of  the  Count 
of  the  Empire,  he  chuckles  to  hiinsdf:  " /'<f /<//>//,  he 
has  the  look  of  one  whose  sword  will  defend  his  honor 
as  a  husband.  He  has  come  back  with  a  title — and 
rich  enough  to  make  a  pretty  good  fight  for  his  rights 
over  the  last  belle  amie  of  the  Regent.  Egad!  Monsieur 


190  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

le  Comte  Dillon's  advent  into  Paris  will  bring  rare  joy 
to  Monsieur  d 'Orleans,  and  I  doubt  not,  my  dear  cousin 
Raymond  d'Arnac,  whose  eyes  spake  love,  if  eyes  ever 
spake  it,  to  the  woman  who  fascinates  us  all,"  for 
Cousin  Charlie  himself  is  still  captive  to  the  delightful 
vivaciousness,  the  brilliant  spirit  and  the  entrancing 
loveliness  of  the  lady  now  called  Madame  de  Sabran. 

Occupied  with  these  ideas,  Cupid,  emitting  sarcastic 
chuckles  and  malicious  giggles,  makes  his  way  to  the 
royal  box,  and  from  there  is  ushered  through  the  private 
passage  into  the  Palais  Royal  itself,  and  the  private 
supper  room  of  the  Regent  of  France. 

Here  he  finds  the  fun  is  not  all  on  Cupid's  side. 

These  affairs  are  very  informal,  D'Orleans  him- 
self tossing  away  his  rank  for  the  time  being.  They 
are  regal  in  nothing  save  magnificent  cuisine  and  glori- 
ous wines,  beautiful  women  and  gay  men.  A  kind  of 
aristocratic  bohemianism  is  thrown  over  them;  every 
one  doing  as  he  pleases  to  get  every  enjoyment  of  the 
senses  the  devil  suggests. 

De  Conti  is  one'  of  the  party,  and  has  added  more  wine 
during  the  ball  to  his  bizarre  brain.  He  is  telling  with 
great  gusto  pretty  Madeline  de  Prie,  the  Marquis  de 
Lassa,  the  sylph-like  beauty,  De  Verue,  and  Madame 
de  Sabran,  of  his  joke  on  senile  Cupid,  and  they  are  all 
laughing  very  heartily. 

As  De  Moncrief  enters  crying:  "  Behold  Cupid  him- 
self!" De  Conti  falls  upon  him  and  goes  through  his 
previous  performance  with  him,  with  even  more 
outrageous  gambols;  finally  dropping  the  struggling, 
writhing,  decrepit  old  imp  of  love  into  the  lap  of  the 
beauteous  De  Sabran,  screaming:  "Who  would  think 
this  Venus  the  mother  of  that  Cupid  ?  Mythology  is  a  lie !  " 

This  frightful  contrast  makes  them  all  very  merry, 
Hilda  laughing  till  the  tears  are  in  her  eyes. 

Lying  thus,  his  wrinkled  head  pillowed  on  her  white 
bosom,  Cousin  Charlie  concludes  to  take  all  the  advan- 
tage of  the  situation  possible,  and  throwing  himself  into 
the  affair,  embraces  lovely  Hilda,  crying:  "Mamma's 
kisses!  mamma's  kisses!  "  and  his  wizened  lips  press 
the  cheek  of  beauty. 

But  Venus,  not  relishing  his  senile  attentions,  takes 
up  the  laugh,  and  crying:  "Cupid's  naughty!  Cupid's 


A     PRINCESS    OF    PARIS.  tgi 

naughty!  "  boxes  his  old  ears  till  Charlie  writhes  with 
shame  and  anguish.  At  which  the  whole  party  burst 
into  more  uproarious  laughter;  and  Ue  Moncrief, 
though  he  loves,  in  his  way,  Hilda  de  Sabran,  hates  IHT 
also,  and  makes  up  his  mind  for  a  revenge  fantastic. 

But  this  is  yet  to  come. 

The  Regent  is  announced,  and  Monsieur  Lass  and 
Madame  de  Locmaria  entering,  they  all  sit  down  to 
supper,  and  have  a  very  merry  time  of  it. 

Though  Cousin  Charlie  laughs  as  loudly  as  any,  his 
mind  is  occupied  with  Cupid's  vengeance,  of  which  a 
little  thing  that  now  happens  makes  him  feel  certain. 

During  the  conversation  at  the  table,  the -Regent 
remarks  to  Monsieur  Lass:  "Have  you  heard  any 
further  news  from  Vienna  ?  " 

"  No, "  replies  the  Scotchman,  "though  there  was  a 
rumor  in  the  ball,  but  a  few  minutes  ago,  that  some 
Count  of  the  Austrian  Empire  had  arrived." 

"You  did  not  see  the  gentleman,  Monsieur  de 
Moncrief  ?  "  says  D'Orleans  carelessly  ?  " 

" Ma  foi !  not  I!  "  answers  the  Procureur.  "I  was 
too  much  occupied  with  wood  nymphs  to  bother  my 
head  about  Austrians  or  Turks!  " 

As  he  says  this,  he  glances  at  la  Sabran  and  notes, 
though  she  hears,  no  uneasiness  has  come  to  her,  and  he 
knows  her  husband's  return  is  still  to  her  unknown. 

So  after  a  little  he  leaves  the  supper  party  apparently 
in  very  good  spirits,  and  very  proud  of  having  been 
invited  to  the  private  table  of  the  Regent  of  France. 

But  on  his  way  home  he  is  saying  to  himself:  "  Here's 
a  pretty  kettle  of  fish  for  Monsieur  Lass,  the  Due 
d'Orleans,  my  Cousin  Raymond,  the  Irish  Count,  and 
Venus  who  boxed  her  Cupid's  ears — a  note  to-morrow ! — 
To-morrow  CUPID'S  REVENGE!"  And  the  god  of  love's 
fairy  wings  rustle  as  he  goes  into  convulsive  chuckles  of 
malignant  hate. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"A    NOTE    TO-MORROW  !" 

FORTUNATELY  for  Cousin  Charlie,  the  parties 
mentioned  in  his  last  remark  know  nothing  of  what  he 
is  to  bring  upon  them. 


IQ2  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

The  supper  party  at  the  Palais  Royal  goes  on  more 
merrily  after  he  has.  left  it,  D'Orleans  basking  in  the 
smiles  of  the  beautiful  Sabran,  until  Madame  de  Para- 
bere,  who  has  joined  the  company  in  spite  of  her  sulks, 
sheds  tears  of  jealous  disappointment,  which  she 
conceals  in  a  lace  handkerchief,  saying  the  pepper  on 
the  salad  affects  her  eyes. 

De  Conti  and  De  Conde,  De  Guiche  and  De  Lassa 
dance  a  wild  sarabande  with  impromptu  frolics  between, 
to  the  music  of  a  small  orchestra  brought  in  for  the 
occasion,  De  Conti  crying  wildly:  "Oh,  if  we  only 
had  Cupid  here  now!"  Which  indicates  that  it  is  just 
as  well  for  Monsieur  de  Moncrief's  dignity  that  Cupid 
has  left  the  supper  party. 

At  the  same  hour  that  this  is  going  on,  Raymond 
d'Arnac  and  Count  Dillon  are  seated  over  their  pipes, 
in  the  former's  apartments  on  the  Rue  Christine,  talk- 
ing over  what  has  happened  to  them  since  they  clasped 
hands  and  bid  each  other  adieu  in  the  town  of  Rastadt, 
some  three  years  before. 

Raymond  has  but  little  to  tell,  save  the  routine  of 
frontier  garrisons  on  the  Pyrenees. 

Dillon's  stories  are  those  of  gay  life  in  Vienna,  and 
two  dashing  and  successful  campaigns  against  the 
Turks. 

"  All  the  time,"  he  says,  "I  was  fighting  not  only 
for  glory,  but  for  plunder  enough  to  bring  me  back 
here.  And  thank  the  Virgin !  at  last  I  got  it,  at 
Belgrade.  I  had  had  some  pretty  pickings  before,  but 
the  booty  of  that  great  battle  was  the  making  of  me. 
It  was  like  the  great  siege  that  learned  people  tell  about 
in  '  Julius  Caesar. '  A  town  heavily  garrisoned.  Round 
it  the  army  of  Prince  Eugene — sixty  thousand  strong. 
Outside  the  great  host  of  the  Turks — three  hundred 
thousand.  We  who  besieged,  were  besieged,  and  faith! 
if  we  had  not  had  the  greatest  commander  of  the  age 
(no  implication  on  the  old  Due  de  Villars  or  Marl- 
borough  himself),  not  a  man  of  us  would  have  lived  to 
get  back.  But  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  unexpected 
to  the  infidels,  who  thought  they  surely  had  us,  with  a 
great  fog  over  us,  the  army,  veterans  every  man  of 
them,  formed  shoulder  to  shoulder,  in  c'urkness  so  great 
they  went  more  by  touch  than  by  eyesight,  and  without 


A     PRINU-.S>     'H       I'ARIS.  193 

a  sound  marched  out  of  our  intrenchments,  and  were  on 
them,  and  then — God  help  them! 

"But  all  the  time  I  had  one  thought — 'not  only 
glory  but  plunder! '  And  I  went  straight  at  the  tent  of 
the  Grand  Vizier,  for  I  had  marked  it  down  with  my 
eyes,  day  after  day,  and  said:  'There's  where  the  finest 
pickings  will  be!  '  But  the  finest  pickings  were  the  best 
guarded,  and  we  had  to  cut  our  way  through  the  Janis- 
saries of  the  Sultan.  At  last  we  got  there  to  find  him 
gone ;  but  I  was  after  him,  for  the  Turks  were  flying  by 
this  time. 

"  I  was  bound  to  have  the  Vizier,  and  so  I  disappeared 
for  a  week,  chasing  him  with  but  one  regiment  of  horse 
at  my  back,  till  finally  I  captured  him  seventy  miles 
from  the  battle  ground,  and  got  what  has  made  me  able 
to  live  like  a  nabob. 

"It  was  nearly  a  week  before  I  returned  from  my 
expedition — in  fact,  I  was  so  long  gone  that  the  first 
reports  of  the  battle  in  Vienna  said  O'Brien  Dillon  had 
left  the  world  along  with  the  Count  d'Estrades  and 
many  other  generals  of  battalia,  slain  by  the  Turks.  So 
my  coming  to  Vienna  was  such  a  source  of  joy  to  his 
Majesty,  who  was  about  to  put  the  court  into  mourning 
for  me,  that  his  Imperial  Highness  said :  '  What 
can  I  do  for  you,  General  Dillon,  to  celebrate  your 
return  ? ' 

"  'Faith,  your  Majesty,'  said  I,  'you  have  only  one 
Irish  Count  in  the  army  now — Count  Browne;  could 
you  not  make  it  two? ' 

"'Why,  certainly,  Count  Dillon,' said  he,  and,  by 
my  soul,  that  is  the  way  I  became  a  noble  of  the 
Empire,  and  when  I  go  back  there  Countess  Dillon  will 
not  have  to  go  in  behind  the  oldest  baroness  in  Vienna. 

"  Lanty,  too,  has  clone  pretty  well  for  himself,  for 
he  took  a  pasha  with  his  own  hands.  They  would  have 
made  him  a  captain,  but  a  captain  could  not  varnish 
my  boots,  and  the  faithful  fellow  would  not  hear  of 
it.  Now,  tell  me  if  you  know  anything  about  the 
Countess  Dillon!  " 

It  is  very  hard  to  tell  a  friend  that  his  wife  is  the 
mistress  of  any  man — even  a  Prince  Regent ;  so  Raymond 
simply  says,  "That  he  has  no  doubt  Hilda  is  in  Paris, 
as  her  uncie  is  now  known  as  Monsieur  Lass." 


194  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

"What!  my_  '  Uncle  Johnny,'  says  the  Irishman. 
"  Faith,  then,  I'll  hunt  him  up  at  his  dirty  bank.  I've 
got  bills  on  him  from  Vienna  for  eighty  thousand 
crowns.  He  can  pay  the  lady  and  the  money  over  at 
the  ^same  time.  But,  Raymond,  I've  been  riding  all 
day,  and  you  have,  too,  as  I  understand." 

''Yes,  we  must  have  both  arrived  in  Paris  about  the 
same  time." 

"Then,  as  our  pipes  have  gone  out,  what  do  you  say 
to  bed  ?  " 

So  the  two  turn  in  and  sleep  the  sleep  of  the  soldier, 
very  contentedly. 

On  awakening  late  the  next  morning  the  first  thing 
that  comes  into  D'Arnac's  mind,  with  a  shock  of  recol- 
lection, is:  "'A  note  to-morrow !' and  my  friend — 
my  old  comrade,  O'Brien  Dillon,  sleeping  by  my  side!  " 

He  gets  up  and  dresses  himself,  and  not  seeing  Lanty 
about,  that  worthy  being  occupied  in  the  transfer  of  his 
master's  baggage  to  Raymond's  quarters,  inquires  of  his 
lackey,  under  his  breath,  as  if  he  were  ashamed  of  it: 
"Any  letters  for  me  ?  " 

"Yes,"  says  the  man  promptly,  and  hands  him  one, 
which  he  is  relieved  to  discover  is  from  his  sister. 

It  says : 

If  you  have  arrived,  come  and  see  me  immediately  !  Jeanne 
has  grown  beyond  me.  Come  and  exert  your  authority  over  the 
wild  child. 

I  obtained  your  address  from  Cousin  Charlie,  who  told  me 
what  apartments  he  had  engaged  for  you. 

This  puts  other  business  before  him,  and  he  is  glad  to 
get  away  to  it.  Charging  his  valet  to  take  careful  charge 
of  any  letters  that  may  come  for  him  and  put  them  away 
in  his  portfolio  devoted  to  his  private  papers,  he  leaves 
his  apartments,  not  even  awakening  Dillon,  who  is  still 
sleeping  the  pleasant  slumbers  of  successful  and  happy 
manhood. 

Somehow  or  other  he  doesn't  care  to  look  in  his 
friend's  face  in  the  light  of  day,  for  conscience  is  sing- 
ing in  his  ear:  "A  note  to-morrow! — a  note  to-mor- 
row!" 

Therefore  he  goes  off  to  make  his  breakfast  at  the 
cafe"  in  the  Rue  de  Fosses  Saint  Germain,  which  is  quite 


A     PRINCESS    OF    PARIS.  195 

convenient  to  him,  and  there  chances  to  meet  old  Poisson, 
the  comedian. 

"Monsieur  le  Comte  d'Arnac,  I  believe,"  remarks 
Paul,  coming  up  and  making  his  best  bow.  Then  he 
grins :  ' '  Parbleu  !  you  found  the  niece  of  Monsieur  Lass, 
Madame  O'Brien  Dillon,  without  me,  my  young  friend," 
next  chuckles:  "  I  did  not  know  it  was  a  love  affair,  or 
I  would  have  helped  you,  young  Apollo.  It  is  always 
the  role  of  the  comedian  to  assist  eloping  Romeos  and 
Juliets." 

"  Sit  down  and  have  breakfast  with  me,"  says  D'Arnac 
affably,  who  wishes  any  company  to  keep  him  from  his 
conscience,  and  drive  "A  note  to-morrow!"  from  his 
brain. 

The  two  make  quite  a  comfortable  meal  of  it,  Pois- 
son running  on  with  anecdotes  of  the  stage,  and  telling 
of  the  great  success  of  Lecouvreur,  the  new  star  at  the 
Francaise. 

"  Perhaps  I'll  have  another  pupil  for  you,  Monsieur 
Poisson,"  laughs  Raymond.  "I've  a  young  lady — a 
WARD" — this  very  sternly,  for  the  comedian  is  begin- 
ning to  grin,  "who  cherishes  aspirations  for  the 
boards." 

"Ma foil  another?"  gasps  Paul.  Then  he  says, 
meditatively:  "  If  she  is  as  beautiful  as  the  other,  and 
has  the  same  bizarre  disposition,  she  would  make  as 
great  a  success  as  I  once  predicted  for  the  charming 
young  lady  Monsieur  Lass  put  under  my  care.  But  Lass 
has  become  the  great  banker  now  and  has  no  more  use 
for  the  poor  comedian,  save  to  laugh  from  his  box,  as 
he  sits  behind  the  Regent,  at  the  grimaces  and  antics 
of  Poisson,  the  actor." 

"  Perhaps  the  young  lady  I  am  speaking  of  has  as 
bizarre  a  disposition,"  returns  Raymond,  "though  I 
doubt  if  she  has  anything  like  the  beauty." 

"No,  that  were  impossible,"  says  Poisson,  decidedly. 

"Quite  so, "  replies  Raymond,  agreeing  with  him, 
and  rising  from  his  seat,  he  bids  the  comedian  good- 
bye, then  strolls  off  to  the  Hotel  de  Chateaubrien  to 
find  a  child  who  has  grown  into  a  young  lady  during 
his  absence,  and  who  has  equal  graces  and  fascinations 
with  even  la  Sabran  herself,  and  a  very  wild  and  bizarre- 
disposition,  but  a  much  better  heart. 


196  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

He  enters  the  hotel  to  be  embraced  by  the  charming 
Mimi,  who  has  just  thrown  off  her  widow's  mourning. 
She  says:  ''Please  don't  speak  to  me  of  Roul, "  as 
Raymond  mentions  her  dead  husband;  then  wipes  away 
some  pearly  tears.  Though  Roul  de  Chateaubrien  had 
been  much  older  than  his  wife,  Mimi  has  one  of  those 
natures  who,  though  brilliant  in  the  world,  ist  domestic 
at  the  hearthstone.  She  has  given  love  and  a/fection  to 
her  husband  when  alive  and  still  has  tears  and  regretful 
remembrance  for  him,  though  he  has  passed  away  some 
two  years  before. 

A  moment  after  she  says:  "Raymond,  let  us  not 
discuss  family  matters, "for  D'Arnac  has  mentioned  the 
Count  de  Crevecceur.  To-day  I  have  to  lay  something 
before  you,  about  which  you  must  take  action  at  once." 

"  Ah,  la  petite  Quinault  ?  " 

"  Yes,  la  diable  Quinault!  " 

"What  has  she  done  ?" 

"What  has  she  not  done  ?  If  it  had  not  been  for 
your  strict  injunctions,  mademoiselle  would  have  been 
on  bread  and  water  in  the  convent  cell.  She  ran  away." 

"Where?" 

"Here  !" 

"  Here  !  This  is  a  frightful  place  for  a  young  girl  !  " 
jeers  Raymond. 

"  But  she  ran  away  to  go  on  the  stage." 

"What  stage?" 

' '  Any  stage.  She  said  she  would  act  in  a  booth  rather 
than  live  in  a  convent  any  longer.  She  has  been  here 
four  days  and  makes  me  take  her  to  the  theatre  every 
night.  The  mania  is  in  her  blood.  If  she  becomes  an 
actress  they  will  not  bury  her  in  consecrated  ground." 

"  Parbleu  !  Mademoiselle  Jeanne  isn't  thinking  of 
death  but  of  life,"  laughs  D'Arnac.  Then  he  asks 
earnestly  :  "  What  is  she  like  ?  " 

"A  riddle  and  a  rhapsody  !  A  fascinating  minx  that 
makes  me  want  to  slap  her  one  minute  and  kiss  her  the 
next.  But  come  with  me,  "says  Mimi.  "She  is  in  the 
library  working  herself  into  a  tantrum  over  Racine  or 
Corneille ;  she  gets  herself  into  emotions  over  tragedies 
and  into  good  humor  over  comedies. 

"Just look  at  her!  "  whispers  Madame  la  Marquise, 
as  Raymond  follows  her.  She  points  cautiously  into 


A      I'RINLl..--     OF      PARIS.  197 

the  library,  and  D'Arnac,  glancing  at  Jeanne  Quinault, 
stands  in  delighted  surprise. 

Jeanne  is  sitting  in  an  arm-chair,  in  careless  not-care 
attitude,  one  little  foot  poked  under  her,  the  other  lying 
on  a  neighboring  ottoman,  the  short  skirt  of  convent 
uniform  falling  from  it  to  disclose  as  perfect  an  ankle  as 
ever  delighted  man.  A  ray  of  sunshine  falls  upon  a 
curly  head,  with  bright  blue  eyes  that  gaze  upon  some 
book  of  the  emotions,  for  her  face  changes  as  she  reads, 
and  each  expression  is  one  of  fascinating  beauty. 

As  D'Arnac  looks  he  knows  the  bud  has  blossomed, 
the  chrysalis  has  become  the  butterfly,  the  little  Quinault 
of  three  years  ago  has  grown  into  a  woman  of  rare  beauty 
and  brilliant  mind. 

Perchance  she  has  not  the  unearthly  loveliness  and 
enchanting,  erratic  graces  of  Hilda  de  Sabran,  but  she 
has  a  beauty  that  is  always  potent,  for  it  reflects  each 
charming  emotion  of  her  vivacious  mind,  each  rapid 
thought  of  her  bright  spirit. 

As  the  two  glide  into  her,  Jeanne  gives  proof  of  this. 

With  eyes  yet  bent  upon  the  book  she  says  sulkily: 
"  Do  I  still  enjoy  your  hospitality,  Madame  la  Marquise, 
or  do  I  go  back  to  the  convent  ?  "  and  getting  no 
answer  from  Raymond,  who  gazes,  and  Mimi,  who  won't 
speak,  she  goes  on  :  "If  I  return  to  Des  Capucines 
I  go  back  a  NUN!  I  can  work  up  a  vocation  for 
anything  in  five  minutes,  and  if  I  endure  seclusion  I 
might  as  well  use  it  to  save  my  soul.  Answer,  which 
shall  it  be,  nun  or  actress  ?  "  And  working  herself 
into  a  rage  of  the  imagination  she  cries:  "Answer, 
Madame  la  Marquise!  Take  your  choice!  Answer! 
Talk!  Do  something!  Scold  me!  Kiss  me!"  and 
springs  up,  raising  eyes  that  have  tears,  half  of  rage, 
half  of  laughter.  Then,  seeing  D'Arnac,  she  gives  a 
semi-pathetic,  semi-startled  cry. 

"  I  think  I'll  kiss  you!  "  laughs  Raymond. 

But  she  astonishes  him.  She  says:  "No!  scold 
me,  I  deserve  it!  Scold  me  well,  Mon  Seigneur.'" 
and  suddenly  courtesies  to  him  an;l  kisses  his  hand  as  she 
did  when  he  had  left  her. 

"  \ot  my  hand,  Jeanne,  after  three  years!"  cries 
D'Arnac.  "As  your  guardian —  He  approaches  her 
quite  reverently  and  tenderly  to  salute  her. 


198  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"Then,  if  it  is  your  pleasure,  Mon  Seigneur,"  she 
returns,  courtesying,  and  holds  up  a  rosy  cheek  quite 
complaisantly  for  his  welcome.  But  just  as  he  is  kissing. 
the  cheek  turns  and  his  salute  falls  on  lips  of  dewy  coral 
that  burst  into  a  merry  laugh,  and  it  is  the  soldier  of  the 
army  who  blushes  and  not  the  maid  of  the  convent 
school. 

This  blush  of  Raymond's  helps  Jeanne  win  her 
battle  for  the  stage.  Mimi,  looking  on,  does  not  like  it. 
She  notes  the  wondrous  capabilities  the  girl  gives 
promise  of  in  that  indefinite  art — called  man  killing. 
She  thinks:  "On  the  stage  Jeanne  will  have  many 
admirers,  in  the  convent  only  my  brother.  She  knows 
that  marriage  for  a  D'Arnac  with  the  girl  is  as  prac- 
tically impossible  as  it  would  be  for  a  Bourbon — the 
line  between  the  blood  of  the  nobles  and  the  blood  of 
the  outside  herd  is  drawn  stronger  than  between  white 
blood  and  black  blood ;  that  it  would  less  offend  class 
prejudice  for  him  to  wed  a  negro  princess  than  to 
marry  the  daughter  of  the  richest  tradesman  of  the 
city.  The  sooner  Mademoiselle  Quinault  is  on  the 
boards  the  better — Raymond  will  not  then  have  her 
care.  Yet  all  the  time  Mimi  loves  the  girl,  but  the 
hauteur  of  the  noblesse  died  so  hard  in  France  it  took 
the  guillotine  to  kill  it,  and  even  then  it  revived,  and 
still,  even  at  this  moment,  is  gasping. 

Acting  on  this  impulse  Madame  de  Chateaubrien 
says  playfully  but  with  rare  tact:  "Now  you  have 
kissed  her,  Raymond,  scold  Miss  Rebel  and  send  her 
back  to  the  convent." 

"Then  what  would  there  be  in  life  for  me?"  cries 
Jeanne.  "Do  you  wish  to  leave  me  in  seclusion  for- 
ever?" 

"Oh,"  answers  D'Arnac,  lightly,  "a  year  or  two 
more  and  we'll  bring  you  out  and  marry  you." 

"  Impossible — I  have  no  dot !  " 

"Monsieur  de  Villars  and  myself  will  look  to  that. 

"You  would  marry  me — to  « >ho»i  1"  gasps  the  girl, 
a  curious  light  coming  into  her  eyes  and  wild  blushes 
flying  over  her  bright  face — "TO  WHOM?"  She 
droops  her  head,  but  her  eyes  give  one  or  two  bashful 
but  pathetic  glances  at  Raymond  that  makes  his  sister 
shiver  and  grow  pale — they  are  so  enchanting. 


A     Pkl.N*  ESS     '  •!'     PARIS.  199 

Getting  no  answer,  Mademoiselle  electrifies  them. 
She  cries  in  a  voice  hoarse  as  Medea  over  Jason's  wrongs : 
"  Coward!  you  dare  not  speak— you  would  marry  me  to 
a  base  tradesman  '  What  would  1  i  are  for  the  creature's 
turns  in  butter  o'r  for  the  price  of  Lyons  velvet  and 
Venice  lace,  save  to  make  me  prettier  ?  But  on  the 
stage ! "  here  she  becomes  enthused — "  There  I  may  not 
be  a  princess,  but  I  can  play  one,  and  for  one  night  think 
I  am  of  noble  birth,  and  not — not — an  outcast  with  the 
pride  of  Lucifer  within  my  veins!  " 

"An  outcast?"  mutters  Raymond,  moved.  "How 
dare  you  say  that  to  me  ? " 

' '  What  put  that  outcast  idea  into  your  head,  Jeanne  ? " 
asks  Mimi,  who  is  more  used  to  her  rhapsodies  than 
her  brother. 

"The  world!" 

"  The  what  ?  "  gasps  Raymond. 

"The  convent  school!  When  I  told  the  girls  my 
mother  was  an  actress,  my  father  an  acrobat,  they  said  I 
was  a  pariah.  Then  I  proved  to  them  the  daughter  of 
an  acrobat  had  the  arm  of  an  acrobat !  "  and  mademoi- 
selle holds  up  in  triumph  a  patrician  hand  and  arm,  and 
says:  "Behold!  with  this  I  slapped  them." 

"Then  you  would  prefer  the  Francais  to  the  convent?" 

"The  Francais!"  screams  Jeanne.  "The  Francais — I 
shall  act  there — like  Lecouvreur whom  I  saw  last  night! 
Oh,  Diable !  but  I'll  do  you  honor!  Monsieur  le  Comte 
d'Arnac  shall  say  that  goddess  of  the  boxes,  that  pride 
of  the  parterre  belongs  to  me — her  seigneur — and  kisses 
my  hand — and  I  will  do  so  each  time  you  come  behind  the 
scenes,  and  bless  you,  dear  Monsieur  Raymond,  and  kiss 
your  hand  as  I  do  now,  if  you  will  say  '  Jeanne,  live  the 
only  life  that  is  for  you — the  life  of  art,'"  and  she  does 
so  on  her  knees,  putting  both  tears  and  kisses  on  his 
hand,  till  D'Arnac  mutters:  "Have  your  way;  it  is  not 
I  whose  life  you  s'aved  should  refuse  you  anything! " 

To  this  Mimi  remarks:  "  Perhaps  it  is  the  best  thing 
for  her  after  all." 

"  You — you  give  consent  ?  "  cries  Jeanne. 

" Diable !  Yes.  It  is  not  much  will  be  refused  you 
in  this  world  if  you  plead  for  it  in  that  way,"  laughs 
Raymond,  gazing  at  the  graceful  figure  kneeling  before 
him. 


200  A     PRINCESS     OF-    PARIS. 

But  it  doesn't  kneel  long.  As  he  speaks  Jeanne  flies 
up  crying:  "The  artiste  will  no  longer  be  degraded  by 
the  school-girl's  dress!  " 

"  Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry !  "  giggles  Mimi.  "  Dresses 
must  be  made,  and  you'll  have  to  study  before  you 
triumph." 

"Won't  I  study  ?  Wait !  See  !  I  know  the  Phedre  now  ! 
Would  you  like  me  to  recite  it,  word  by  word,  scene  by 
scene,  act  by  act  ?  " 

" Mon  Dieu!"  gasps  D'Arnac,  nervously,  "  It  is  five 
hours  long!  " 

"Yes,  but  you  can  sit  down!"  cries  Jeanne,  and 
places  chairs. 

These  preparations  terrify  her  guardians. 

Raymond  announces:  "I've  got  to  go  back  to  my 
quarters.  My  friend,  O'Brien  Dillon,  has  just  come 
from  Vienna,"  and  Mimi  says:  "I'll  go  and  make 
arrangements  for  your  tutelage,  my  embryo  artiste ;  I 
think  Mademoiselle  Desmares  would  like  a  pupil." 

"  That  means  you  imagine  I  will  not  be  a  tragedienne, " 
pouts  Miss  Quinault. 

"Nonsense  Fly-away!  "  laughs  Madame  la  Marquise. 
"With  your  bright  face  and  piquant  manners,  the  audi- 
ence will  love  you  too  well  to  see  you  suffer!  " 

"Very  well!  bring  Desmares  here,  and  I'll  astonish 
her!  "  cries  Jeanne,  with  the  true  modesty  of  all  great 
artists. 

At  which  Mimi  and  Raymond  burst  into  a  laugh  that 
makes  the  comedienne's  eyes  flash  all  the  fires  of 
tragedy,  as  the  two  depart  on  their  various  errands. 

"Do  you  think, "  says  Madame  la  Marquise  to  her 
brother,  as  he  stands  with  her  in  the  vestibule  of  her 
hotel,  awaiting  the  driving  up  of  her  carriage,  "that 
she  will  make  a  success,  she  has  such  a  bizarre  disposi- 
tion ?  " 

"That  is  one  of  the  things  that  will  do  it!  "  returns 
Raymond.  "  I  had  a  talk  with  old  Poisson,  of  the 
Francais,  this  morning,  and  he  says  uncontrollable 
emotions  generally  go  with  the  great  triumphs  of  the 
stage." 

' '  Then  she  will  be  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  theatre !  " 
laughs  Mimi.  A  moment  after  she  says:  "You 
mentioned  the  return  of  your  friend,  the  Irish  Colonel, 


\      PRINCESS     OK     PARIS.  201 

the  man  who  saved  your  life  at  Friburg.  He  has  come 
hack  unscathed  from  the  Turkish  war  ?  " 

"Yes;  a  general  and  a  count.  Now  we  are  indeed 
brothers!"  remarks  D'Arnac.  Then  his  face  grows 
serious  as  he  adds:  "  I  must  go  back  to  my  quarters  at 
once,"  and  strides  rapidly  towards  the  Rue  Christine, 
for  "A  note  to-morrow!  "  is  once  more  ringing  in  his 
brain. 

As  he  walks  he  meditates,  and  to  one  thing  definitely 
makes  up  his  mind;  that  is,  he  will  burn  the  letter 
unread.  It  is  the  only  way  he  can  put  temptation  from 
him;  and  every  sentiment  of  manhood  compels  his 
honor  to  his  old  friend.  No  matter  what  Hilda  may 
be  to  other  men  she  shall  be  nothing  to  Raymond 
d'Arnac. 

This  relieves  his  mind.  He  comes  up  the  stairs  quite 
cheerily  into  his  apartments,  and,  seeing  his  old  comrade 
seated  there  with  happy  face,  cries  out:  "Ah,  the  world 
has  treated  you  well  to-day!  " 

Then  O'Brien  Dillon  gives  him  his  answer,  and  it 
carries  with  it  one  of  the  greatest  coups  de  theatre  of  his 
life. 

"By  my  soul!  "  cries  the  Irishman,  "  I'm  the  happiest 
man  on  earth!  I  went  to  hunt  up  my  Uncle  Johnny  at 
his  bank,  but  could  not  find  him.  He  was  away,  busied 
about  that  new  company  he  has  formed — the  India 
one,  they  call  it — that  is  to  turn  all  the  wealth  of  the 
Canadas  and  Louisiana  into  Uncle  Johnny's  capacious 
maw,  though  he  expresses  it,  'into  the  lap  of  France. ' 
Not  seeing  him  there  Lanty  and  I  engaged  a  private 
billiard-room,  and  had  a  very  pleasant  time  of  it. 

"  Between  ourselves,  for  this  is  a  great  secret,  practic- 
ing the  new  stroke  in  billiards  that  Lanty  has  invented. 
Ah,  it's  a  wonderful  one!  When  first  Lanty  did 
it  for  me,  I  grabbed  him  by  the  throat  to  strangle  the 
divil  out  of  him,  for  I  thought  that  old  Satan  himself 
was  in  him,  the  ball  rolled  so  curious.  But  he  explained 
it  to  me  when  I  let  him  get  his  breath  back,  saying  it 
was  merely  a  new  law  of  forces.  Something  he  had 
discovered  kicking  cannon  halls  about  when  he  had 
nothing  better  to  do,  and  we  were  cooped  up  before 
Belgrade  by  the  Turks.  Faith,  it's  a  stroke  a  man  can 
win  a  million  on  if  he  plays  it  properly.  It's  better 


202  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

than  loaded  dice,  or  Uncle  Johnny's  pharo  combina- 
tions. 

"  And  then  I  came  here,  my  boy,  to  receive  the  great 
joy  of  my  life.  This  letter  of  love  from  my  darling 
wife!  " 

With  this,  he  hands  the  astounded  Raymond  a  note, 
and  there  are  happy  tears  in  the  Irishman's  eyes  as  the 
Frenchman  reads  as  follows : 

MY  DARLING  : 

God  knovtfs  how  I  have  looked  for — longed  for  this — your 
return  after  years  of  absence — your  return  in  spite  of  those  who 
would  keep  us  apart.  How  I  bless  your  brave  heart  for  daring 
to  come  to  Paris  for  my  sake  !  But  now  I  think  we  are  strong 
enough  together  to  at  least  brave  those  who  would  separate  us, 
though  they  tore  me  from  your  arms.  In  my  imagination,  I 
see  you  now  as  you  fought  for  me. 

Come  at  ten  o'clock  this  evening  to  the  Rue  des  Bonnes 
Enfants  by  the  side  of  the  gardens  of  the  Palais  Royal.  There 
my  maid  will  meet  you,  and  bring  you  to  me,  and  your  heart, 
as  it  once  did,  shall  beat  against  that  of 

Your  loving 

HILDA. 

With  a  start,  Raymond  turns  to  the  envelope,  think- 
ing, by  some  wild  mistake,  his  note  has  been  opened  by 
his  friend.  But  the  address  reads  plainly: 

To 

GENERAL  COMTE  DILLON, 

RUE  CHRISTINE, 
Private.     Immediate.  PARIS. 

He  knows  it  is  some  marvelous  error,  but  blesses 
God  that  every  word  written  to  him  might  apply  to 
Hilda's  husband. 

Yet,  filled  with  curiosity  and  wonder,  such  are  the 
vagaries  of  passion,  D'Arnac  chews  his  moustachios 
very  glumly,  as  O'Brien  descants  with  excited  eyes  on 
the  marvelous  beauty  of  his  peer  among  women — 
his  heart's  darling,  who  has  come  once  more  into  his 
life. 

And  sp  they  sit  down  to  dinner,  Raymond  eating  but 
little,  under  the  plea  of  a  heavy  breakfast.  But  O'Brien, 
pouring  down  the  wine  in  generous  bumpers  and  shout- 
ing every  now  and  again:  "A  health  to  the  beautiful 
goddess  of  delight!  Drink  hearty,  Raymond,  my  boy, 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  203 

to  the   second  honeymoon  of  General  Comte  O'Brien 
Dillon!  " 

Whereon,  Raymond  puts  the  glass  to  his  lips,  but  the 
wine  seems  to  him  very  sour  .vinegar. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE    SECOND    HOXKVMOi  »X    OF    O'BRIEN    DILLON. 

CURIOUSLY  enough,  this  extraordinary  complication 
has  been  brought  about  by  Cousin  Charlie.  Monsieur 
le  Procureur  du  Roy  has  also  had  buzzing  in  his  brain: 
"  A  note  to-morrow!  "  and  has  made  his  preparations 
accordingly. 

Knowing  very  well  the  habits  of  fine  ladies,  he  guesses 
that  Madame  de  Sabran  will  rise  quite  late  after  the 
Regent's  supper,  and  determines  the  note  for  his  cousin 
will  arrive  not  earlier  than  one  o'clock  in  the  day. 

A  little  before  this  hour  he  sends  a  lackey  of  his  (whom 
he  has  used  before  on  similar  doubtful  errands)  with 
distinct  instructions  to  get  hold  of  D'Arnac's  servants  and 
lure  them  away  to  a  neighboring  wine  shop. 

This  is  easily  done,  and  shortly  after  one  o'clock 
Monsieur  de  Moncrief  takes  post  in  Raymond's  apart- 
ments to  receive  his  mail. 

There  is  no  one  to  hinder  him,  Dillon  and  Lanty 
being  out,  and  the  two  lackeys  of  D'Arnac  at  present 
engaged  in  playing  dominoes  and  drinking  Cliianti  at  a 
wine  shop  in  the  neighboring  Rue  de  Savoye,  in  company 
with  Cousin  Charlie's  man,  who  is  very  liberally  paying 
the  score. 

After  perchance  an  hour's  uneasy  vigil,  in  comes  a 
little  blackamoor  servant  of  Madame  de  Sabran,  ladies  of 
fashion  making  quite  a  fad  of  Ethiopian  attache's  in  1717. 

This  creature  says  in  his  darkey  dialect:  "  A  not-lit- 
for  Moussou  de  Arnack." 

"Quite  right,"  returns  le  Procureur,  "these  are 
Monsieur  d'Arnac's  apartments  ! "  and  takes  the 
missive. 

Then  a  wicked  twinkle  comes  into  his  eyes,  as  he 
makes  young  dark  skin  happy  by  giving  him  a  crown  with 
which  to  buy  bon  bons. 


204  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

And  Blackamoor  going  off  in  pursuit  of  his  loved 
sweets,  Charles  de  Moncrief  looks  at  the  address: 

To 

GENERAL  COMTE  D'ARNAC, 

RUE  CHRISTINE, 
Private.     Immediate.  PARIS. 

After  a  moment's  consideration  he  chuckles  to  himself: 
"It  will  not  be  difficult  to  change  '  D'Arnac  '  to 
'  Dillon!  '  The  Irishman  is  a  soldier  and  not  a  scribe, 
and  his  deception  will  be  an  easy  one." 

This  he  does,  simulating  quite  correctly  in  the  few 
letters  he  has  to  make  on  the  envelope  the  handwriting 
of  the  fair  De  Sabran. 

Leaving  this  note  upon  the  table,  in  prominent  posi- 
tion, where  it  will  catch  Dillon's  eye  when  he  returns, 
Cousin  Charlie  departs,  meditating:  "  I  wonder  if  this 
will  be  the  quietus  of  dear  boy  Raymond!  " 

But  after  dinner,  being  desperately  anxious  to  find 
out  what  has  been  the  outcome  of  the  Irish  officer's 
perusal  of  his  wifels  note  to  his  bosom  friend  and 
comrade,  De  Moncrief,  unable  to  contain  his  curiosity, 
knocks  at  the  door  of  Raymond's  apartments,  cogitat- 
ing: "I  doubt  not  the  wild  Irishman  has  killed  Cousin 
Raymond  by  this  time,  and  gone  off  to  slay  that  Venus, 
his  wife,  who  boxed  her  Cupid's  cheeks!  " 

His  eagerness  makes  his  ears  alert.  The  noise  of 
hilarity  comes  to  him  through  the  door.  He  starts, 
astonished, but  is  petrified, as  the  portal  opens  to  find  both 
gentlemen  dining  apparently  very  amicably  together. 

"Ah!  They  are  doing  the  thing  en  gentlehomme. 
They  will  drink  wine  with  each  other  to-night, 
and  cross  rapiers  by  to-morrow's  morning  light,"  he 
guesses. 

He  has  heard  very  good  accounts  of  Dillon's  sword- 
play,  and  has  great  hopes  that  Raymond  will  not  escape 
the  Irishman's  vengeance. 

So,  with  his  finest  bow,  De  Moncrief  begs  to  be  intro- 
duced to  the  celebrated  officer,  of  whom  he  has  heard 
so  much.  " Parbleu,  General,"  he  remarks,  on  pres- 
entation, "D'Arnac  has  been  full  of  nothing  but  your 
conduct  on  the  Rhine,  and  you  have  been  even  more 
successful  among  the  Turks !  I  admirt  your  diamonds ! " 


A     PRINCESS     OF     1'AKIS.  205 

For  Dillon,  having  rigged  himself  out  for  the  re-con- 
quest of  his  blushing  bride,  is  literally  ablaze  with  bril- 
liants he  has  ravished  from  the  Turkish  Vizier. 

But  now  he  fairly  paralyzes  the  Pfocureur  with  amaze- 
ment, for  he  cries  out,  in  his  genial  Irish  brogue:  "Sit 
down  and  join  us!  Monsieur  de  Moncrief,  aglassof  wine 
to  the  health  of  the  fairest  woman  in  France — Madame 
la  Comtesse  Dillon!  " 

At  these  words  the  Procureur's  knees  give  way 
under  him.  He  sinks  into  a  chair  and  says  faintly: 
"The  health  of — of  Madame  la  Comtesse  Dillon!  "  for 
Lanty  has  filled  a  goblet  for  him. 

Then,  though  the  wine  tastes  sour  to  him,  as  it  does 
to  Raymond,  he  tries  to  put  on  great  show  of  merri- 
ment, and  attempts  a  faint  joke  with  the  serving  Lanty, 
asking  him  if  Lanty  is  not  the  short  for  Lancelot. 

"  No,  it's  Irish  for  Lanigan!"  cries  Lanty,  at  which 
they  all  grow  merry. 

"Faith,  I  must  §top  laughing  and  get  on  my  way," 
remarks  O'Brien.  "  De  Moncrief,  I'll  tell  you  the  story 
of  my  wars  with  the  Turks  the  next  time  I  see  you." 

"Indeed!  you  are  in  a  hurry?"  falters  Charlie, 
greatly  disappointed,  seeing  there  is  no  quarrel  between 
the  friends. 

"  Bedad,  there's  a  lady  waiting  for  me,"  answers  the 
Irish  General  with  a  knowing  wink. 

"  Ah,"  ejaculates  the  Procureur  returning  the  ogle, 
"  a  fair  one  so  soon  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  by  my  soul,  MY  WIFE!  Look  at  that 
letter!"  cries  Dillon,  full  of  wine  and  joy.  "Isn't 
that  a  lovely  billet  doux  for  a  man's  return  to  Paris  ?  " 
And  he  holds  up  in  triumph  the  missive  Cousin  Charlie 
has  prepared  for  his  eyes,  to  drive  him  mad  for  blood 
with  jealous  despair,  that  has  brought  great  joy  unto  the 
innocent  Irishman's  soul  of  souls. 

Gazing  at  the  note  De  Moncrief  is  very  much 
tempted  to  tell  the  truth  of  the  matter,  which  would 
put  these  two  men  to  flying  at  each  other's  throats. 
But,  words  that  come  to  him  now,  make  him  pause, 
not  daring  to  give  the  hint. 

As  Dillon  has  risen  from  the  table,  Lanty  has  sud- 
denly brought  in  sword  and  pistols  to  him,  saying: 
"My  lord,  had  I  better  take  mine  and  follow  ye?" 


206  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

Then  he  whispers:   "Ye  know  something  happened  to 
ye  the  last  time  you  saw  her!  " 

"  Not  a  word,  Lanty,  against  the  good  faith  of  the 
woman  who  loves  me!  "  cries  the  General — passion  in 
his  eyes.  "  Didn't  she  explain  to  Raymond  here  how 
old  Uncle  Johnny  had  betrayed  me,  and  she  was 
trying  to  save  me  ?  Do  you  think  I'd  ever  doubt  her 
truth  to  me  with  this  lovely  letter  in  my  hand  ?  I'll 
take  sword  and  pistol  as  gentlemen  should  do  when  out 
at  night;  but  by  the  soul  of  Saint  Patrick!  I  have  as 
much  faith  in  her  who  is  coming  to  my  arms,  as  I  have 
in  Heaven!  " 

So  he  strides  off,  joy  in  his  honest  eyes,  leav- 
ing D'Arnac  smoking  his  pipe  glumly,  and  the 
Procureur  du  Roy  with  some  very  evil  curses  that 
tremble  upon  his  lips,  though  he  does  not  utter  them. 

A  moment  after  Raymond  rises  and  says:  "You'll 
excuse  me,  Cousin,  but  I  think  I'll  return  to  the  Hotel 
de  Chateaubrien,  and  see  what  arrangements  my  sister 
has  made  for  placing  Mademoiselle  Jeanne  upon  the 
stage." 

"Ha,  you  have  seen  her!"  ejaculates  De  Moncrief. 

"Yes,"  answers  D'Arnac,  and  after  a  minute  goes 
on  his  errand,  leaving  the  Procureur  gazing  after  him 
and  thinking:  "  One  string  to  my  bow  is  broken,  but 
voila  !  here  is  another !  Egad !  Raymond  has  fallen  down 
before  a  new  goddess.  Even  as  my  cousin  now  walks 
the  streets,  he  is  thinking  of  the  charms  of  Mademoi- . 
selle  Jeanne." 

But  as  he  strides  along,  Raymond  d'Arnac  is  not  think- 
ing of  the  charms  of  Mademoiselle  Jeanne.  The 
perspiration  of  anguish,  of  disappointment,  of  regret, 
is  on  his  brow.  He  is  sighing  over  the  ineffable  loveli- 
ness that  would  have  been  his  had  not  his  friend  returned 
to  claim  it. 

While  this  is  taking  place,  the  happy  victor  of  this 
evening's  game  of  chance,  O'Brien  Dillon,  is  slashing 
over  the  streets  of  Paris  whistling  a  merry  air.  His 
sanguine  temperament,  once  nearly  crushed  by  disap- 
pointment and  misfortune,  under  the  sun  of  success 
beams  on  every  one  who  crosses  his  path. 

Even  the  charlatans  of  the  Pont  Neuf  receive  kind  words 
and  jingling  coins  from  him.  He  jokes  with  the  venders 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  2O^ 

of  wooden  legs,  and  buys  a  box  of  perfumed  powder  for 
Madame  la  Comtesse  Dillon  from  an  imploring 
huckster.  "  Not  that  she'll  need  it,  for  her  skin  is  like 
lilies  and  roses,"  he  laughs;  "but  it  will  show  her  I 
thought  of  her  even  in  battle,  I'll  inform  her  I  captured 
it  in  the  Vizier's  tent,  for  her  own  beautification,  and 
that  it  was  much  used  by  the  ladies  of  the^  harem,  to 
give  them  complexions  pleasing  to  the  Sultan.  Perhaps 
the  darling  would  rather  have  diamonds,  though,"  cogi- 
tates the  General,  looking  at  the  gems  that  make  him 
glitter. 

In  this  he  is  about  right,  for  Hilda  will  undoubtedly 
pounce  on  the  brilliants  before  the  face  powder. 

So,  jostling  his  way  on  through  the  crowds  of  Paris, 
under  the  lighted  oil  lamps  of  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  he 
shortly  after  turns  into  the  Rue  des  Bonnes  Enfants, 
and  striding  down  that  street  comes  to  its  secluded  part, 
opposite  the  gardens  of  the  Palais  Royal. 

Then,  after  looking  about  eagerly  for  some  little  time, 
he  steps  up  to  a  very  pretty  maid  servant,  who  is  appar- 
ently on  post  at  this  point,  and  chucking  her  under  the 
chin,  laughs:  "Rosalie,  don't  you  know  your  old 
master  ?" 

And  the  girl  turns  to  him  wondering  eyes  that  grow 
affrighted,  as  she  gasps  :  "  Major  O'Brien  Dillon  !" 

"Faith,  I'm  glad 'you  remember  me,  though  I'm  a 
general  now  !  "  says  O'Brien  happily.  "  But  take  me 
to  your  mistress,  for  by  my  soul  I'm  as  anxious  to  get 
kiss  of  her  as  she  is  of  me  !  " 

"  My  mistress!  "  gasps  the  girl. 

"Yes,  your  mistress,  who  sent  me  this  little  note, 
telling  me  to  meet  you  here^at  ten  o'clock,  and  I  would 
be  taken  to  her  apartments. "  Your  mistress,  my  wife — 
Madame  la  Comtesse  Dillon." 

"La  Comtesse  D — Dillon!"  stammers  the  maid, 
who  is  the  one  that  served  Hilda  in  the  Low  Countries. 

"  Don't  you  understand,  ye  little  addlepate," 
answers  the  Irishman,  for  on  seeing  Dillon's  face 
Rosalie  lias  grown  very  stupid,  perchance  from 
fright.  "Ah,  if  I  had  known  you  would  be  here, 
1  should  have  brought  Mr.  Lanty  along  with  me. 
Kaith,  the  disappointment  of  the  fellow  will  be  terrible 
when  I  tell  him  that  it  was  his  little  Rosalie  that  met 


2O8  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

me  here.  But  Lanty's  chance  will  come  afterwards. 
Quick!  run  along.  Can't  you  see  I'm  as  impatient  a 
husband  as  ever  came  back  from  war;  aye,  and  the 
happiest.  I  think  I  could  love  a  Turk  at  this  moment." 

This  rigmarole  gives  the  quick-witted  Rosalie  time  to 
reflect.  He  certainly  has  the  note.  She  knows  O'Brien 
Billion's  impetuous  nature.  She  dare  not  tell  him  it  is 
a  mistake.  N* 

So,  with  eyes  big  with  astonishment,  and  a  slight 
snicker  that  will  force  itself  through  Rosalie's  pretty 
lips,  she  gasps:  "This  way!" 

And  he,  accompanying  her  through  one  or  two 
neighboring  streets,  Mademoiselle  Rosalie  taps  three 
times,  very  cautiously,  at  the  side  entrance  of  a 
magnificent  residence. 

Then  the  door  being  opened  to  her,  she  dashes  in, 
followed  by  the  Irish  officer,  but  being  more  familiar  with 
the  place  distances  him,  and  running  into  a  magnificent 
apartment  ablaze  with  light  and  decorated  and  adorned 
with  pictures  by  the  finest  artists,  and  statues  of  the 
greatest  sculptors,  bric-a-brac  from  Sevres  and  glass  from 
Bohemia,  she  cries  out  loudly  and  in  commanding  tone 
of  voice:  "I  ANNOUNCE  GENERAL  O'BRIEN  DILLON!" 

And  a  lady,  fair  as  Venus  rising  from  the  sea,  springs 
up  with  a  wild  cry. 

But  before  she  can  say  anything  a  pair  of  stal- 
wart arms  clasp  her  to  a  broad  breast,  and  showering 
kisses  upon  lips  that  grow  pale  with  every 
emotion  under  the  sun,  astonishment  predominating, 
O'Brien  Dillon  gasps:  "God  bless  you,  wife  of  my 
heart!  Your  husband  has  at  last  come  to  you  through 
the  dangers  of  battle — rich  and  honored — from  the  land 
of  the  Turk!" 

And  how  is  he  answered  ? 

At  first  by  gasping  sighs  and  trembling  shudders  and 
rolling  eyes,  for  astonishment,  disappointment,  and, 
above  all,  astounded  fury,  would  make  his  new  found 
spouse  faint  in  his  arms  if  he  would  let  her;  but 
O'Brien  comes  of  sterner  stuff.  "No  fainting,"  he 
cries,  ' '  when  there's  kissing  to  do,  MADAME  LA  COMTESSE 
DILLON!  " 

This  unexpected  title  gives  the  lady  another  shock 
that  partially  revives  her,  though  her  husband's  strong 


A      PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  2OQ 

arms  still  squeeze  half  the  breath  from  her  delicate 
body,  and  his  impulsive  kisses  upon  her  sighing  lips 
consume  the  other  portion. 

O'Brien's  ardor   does  the  rest. 

Under  his  caresses,  she  who  had  grown  dazed 
and  clammy  with  astounded  shock  and  mysterious  fear 
at  the  sudden  substitution  of  this  husband  she  thought 
dead  on  the  banks  of  the  Danube,  in  place  of  the  living 
man  for  whose  coming  she  had  been  waiting  anxious  as 
Leda  for  her  swan,  grows  warm  and  sentient. 

With  one  great  wave  the  blood  flies  to  limbs  that  were 
cold  and  trembling.  The  statue  that  was  marble  takes 
glowing  life  and  color.  Hilda  awakes  to  the  situation 
in  all  its  embarrassing  vivacity. 

"It  —  is  —  real  !  "  she  gasps. 

"Is  that  real  ?"  laughs  O'Brien.  "By  my  soul, 
can't  ye  believe  your  own  happiness  ?  Won't  that  prove 
it,  wife  of  my  heart  ?  Isn't  that  and  THAT  pleasing  and 
convincing  evidence?"  These  "  thats  "  are  all  long, 
strong  kisses  that  have  lost  no  charm  or  potency  by 
their  four  years'  waiting. 

"  Y-e-s,  I  recognize  them,"  gasps  Hilda.  Then  she 
lisps  with  most  coquettish  moue :  "They — they  have 
the  same  tobacco  flavor." 

Under  them  Hilda  throws  off  the  last  daze  of  unreal- 
ity. 

O'Brien  can't  be  dead;  never  were  specter's  kisses 
so  vivid,  so  fascinating. 

They  are  not  those  she  has  been  longing  for,  but  they 
are  enchanting  all  the  same,  not  because  they  are  her 
husband's,  for  laws  of  God  or  man  have  little  to  do  with 
this  lady's  vagaries,  but  while  he  has  been  caressing,  she 
has  been  gazing. 

Before  her  stands  even  a  handsomer  fellow  than  the 
O'Brien  Dillon  of  her  Flanders  honeymoon. 

His  mien  has  grown  that  of  one  accustomed  to  com- 
mand; his  fine,  stalwart  figure,  decked  with  the  full 
uniform  of  an  Austrian  general,  a*nd  blazing  with  the 
diamonds  of  the  Turk,  looks  imposing,  distinguished 
and  dominating  to  Madame  Erratic  as  she  inspects 
him — in  her  soul  one  supreme  wonder — how  did  this 
occur. 


2IO  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

His  frankness  soon  elucidates  the  affair.  "  Darling," 
he  whispers,  "  if  you  are  dazed  with  joy,  haven't  I  been 
mad  with  delight  ever  since  I  got  your  dear  little  note  ?  " 
and  waves  the  billet  doux  before  her  rolling  eyes. 

"You — got — my  letter  ?  "  she  ejaculates. 

Then  astonishes  herself,  as  she  mutters,  "Thank 
God!"  for  his  kisses  have  made  Madame  Inconstant 
love  him  the  most — for  a  little  while. 

In  her  first  burst  of  disappointment  she  could  have 
slain  the  unfortunate  little  blackamoor  to  whom 
she  attributes  the  miscarriage  of  her  letter,  but  as  she 
gazes  and  O'Brien  kisses,  she  could  shower  young  dark 
skin  with  favors  and  bon  bons. 

"Look  at  the  darling  little  love  note,  "runs  on  Dillon, 
thrusting  the  missive  under  her  eyes. 

Thus  cajoled  she  examines  the  epistle,  and  finding 
that  the  address  has  been  changed  by  some  deft  hand, 
knows  she  owes  her  unexpected  surprise  to  some  other 
than  her  page. 

For  one  instant  she  thinks  perchance  it  is  Ray- 
mond, and  anathematizes  him  between  her  teeth  at 
this  insult  to  her  charms.  The  next  instant  Vanity 
says,  "  It  can't  be  he — he  loves  me  now  as  well  as  he 
did  at  Mieux.  His  eyes  told  me  that  last  night." 

But  still  .she  goes  to  questioning:  "  Did  you  show 
this  to  any  one,  dear  O'Brien  ?  " 

"  To  only  one — my  bosom  friend — the  man  who  tried 
to  take  you  to  me  in  Vienna,"  answers  Dillon.  "  But 
I  told  every  one.  Faith,  do  you  think  a  man  can  have 
a  joy  like  this  and  keep  from  shouting  ?  "  and  he  goes 
on,  with  pride  and  love  in  his  eyes,  and  gives  her  an 
account  of  the  affair  at  which  she  wonders. 

But  while  O'Brien  is  talking  she  has  been  charming 
him  with  little  coy,  wifely  caresses  and  attentions  that 
put  him  in  the  Seventh  Heaven  of  the  Ottoman. 

He  looks  round  the  room.  Its  ceiling  is  frescoed 
into  gayest  cupids  and  brightest  goddesses,  and  its 
pictures  and  works  of  art,  its  statuettes  of  ivory  and 
marble,  are  all  of  cTelicate  designs;  its  draperies  and 
hangings  of  lightest  silks  and  satins — the  fit  boudoir  for 
a  goddess,  and  that  goddess  his ! 

The  place  would  seem  dreamy  were  it  not  for  the 
vivacious  loveliness  it  enshrines. 


A     PRINCESS     OF      I'ARIS.  211 

For  Hilda  this  evening  is  robed  for  the  conquest  of 
man,  and  the  allurements  prepared  for  Raymond  drive 
Dillon  wild  with  rapture. 

He  whispers:  "  You  made  yourself  purty,  all  for  me, 
ye  darling,"  and  sits  enthralled,  for  somehow  he  knows 
she  must  love  the  man  for  whom  she  is  arrayed. 

Her  full  evening  dress  has  the  suggestions  of  tcte  a 
fete.  It  seems  less  for  the  ballroom  than  for  "the  man 
she  loves — and  him  ONLY. 

It  is  some  coquettish,  gauzy  texture  that  drapes  over 
her  short,  glimmering  satin  skirt  and  makes  her  ethereal 
but  not  celestial. 

Her  neck,  arms  and  bosom  gleam  above  it  with  ivory 
effects.  In  it  she  is  a  fairy  Cleopatra. 

"Tell  me, "  she  whispers,  as  she  returns  his  kisses, 
"how  you  slew  the  Turks,  my  hero.  I  saw  you  fight 
once. 

The  admiration  in  her  eyes  enraptures  Dillon. 
"  Which  of  'em  ?"  he  laughs,  "  the  Vizier  or  the  Pasha 
or  those  beasts  of  Janissaries  ?  " 

' '  He  of  the  Diamonds  !  " 

"  Ha,  trust  your  roguish  little  eyes  for  catching  their 
sparkle,"  chuckles  O'Brien.  "Upon  my  knee,  little 
wifey,  and  I'll  tell  ye  of  the  Vizier." 

Then  a  graceful  fairy  perches  herself  upon  the  war- 
rior, and  twining  her  fair  fingers  into  his  great  red 
whiskers,  laughs,  "Tell  me,  Big  General!" 

Thus  coaxed,  he  gives  her  his  story  of  the  Danube, 
explaining  how  he  caught  the  Vizier  all  for  her,  and 
that  his  diamonds  were  worth  half  a  million  crowns  and 
his  ransom  eighty  thousand  more,  "  For  which,  by  the 
bye,  I've  drafts  on  me  Uncle  Johnny,"  adds  Dillon, 
caustically. 

A  moment  after  he  mutters:  "I  suppose  I  must 
pDstpone  killing  him  till  after  he's  paid  my  checks." 

"Of  course,"  murmurs  Hilda.  Then  she  grows 
more  serious  and  suggests  that  Uncle  Johnny  has  been 
very  kind  to  her. 

"  How  ?     By  separating  you  from  me  ?  " 

"  No,  but  he  has  made  me  rich;  this  house  is  mine." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  chuckles  O'Brien.  "Then  his  giving  »u-  a 
palace  is  one  thing  in  his  favor.  I  may  let  him  off  with 
the  loss  of  an  arm  or  leg." 


212  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"Oh,  "says  Madame  Hilda,  pouting,  for  this  easy 
assumption  of  marital  rights  over  her  property  is  not 
altogether  to  her  liking,  "you  must  do  better  than 
that." 

"How?" 

"You  must  forgive  Uncle  Johnny.  He  has  given 
me  more.  I've  any  quantity  of  stock  in  the  bank  and 
lots  of  India  securities." 

"Then,  if  the  stocks  are  to  my  liking,  and  there's 
enough  of  'em,  I  may  let  him  live,"  utters  Dillon,  grow- 
ing benign  under  her  blandishments,  "though  I  had 
sworn  to  have  my  Uncle  Johnny's  blood." 

"  You  will  spare  him!  Brava!"  cries  Hilda.  "Then 
1 11  dance  for  you  in — in — in  YOUR  DIAMONDS!  "  and 
claps  her  pretty  hands  at  the  idea,  as  if  it  was  a  very 
novel,  original  and  pleasing  one. 

Next  jumping  up  she  whispers :  "  You  remember  how 
you  liked  to  see  my  twinkling  feet,  dear  O'Brien,  in 
the  good  old  days.  I'll  dance  for  you  in  the  diamonds 
of  the  Turk." 

"  Not  unless  ye  let  me  pin  them  on  yer  lovely  figure 
myself!  "  cries  the  doting  Dillon. 

This  luxury  the  lady  coquettishly  and  coyly  permits 
him,  and  he  soon  has  her  sparkling  like  the  stars  in 
Heaven. 

The  great  crescent  and  its  smaller  star  are  blazing 
upon  her  fair  forehead,  and  jewels  are  twinkling  from 
out  her  hair,  and  flashing  on  her  rounded  arms 
and  gleaming  neck  and  ivory  bosom  with  dazzling 
luster,  though  even  their  radiance  adds  little  to  a 
beauty  that  is  supreme,  as  she  steps  before  him  for  the 
dance. 

With  one  swing,  for  this  lady  likes  theatrical  effects, 
she  tosses  the  gauzes  of  her  overdress  all  sparkling 
with  jewels  about  her,  waving  it  as  a  scarf,  and  tucking 
up  her  shining  white  satin  petticoat,  makes  her  fasci 
nating  feet  trip  the  measure  of  a  dashing  little 
sarabande  till  the  enthusiastic  Dillon  cries:  "Brava!" 
and  stops  her  with  enraptured  kisses. 

"  Faith,  you're  like  the  Goddess  Terpsichore  herself!  " 
he  laughs.  "  You  look  so  beauteous  in  those  diamonds 
ye  shall  always  wear  them!  " 

An  idea  that  has  entered  Hilda's  brain  before  his. 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  213 

"Sure,  I'm  happy  enough  to  dance  an  Irish  jig 
to-night,  myself, "  cries  the  general,  "  in  my  own  house 
with  my  own  wife,  after  my  return  from  all  the  dangers 
of  battle." 

"Yes,  we  must  take  good  care  of  our  valuables  now," 
suggests  Hilda;  "though,  of  course,  they  are  safe  in 
your  own  house,  dear  O'Brien." 

"  My  valuables!  sure,  haven't  I  them  all  in  my  arms! 
What  more  do  I  have  ?  " 

"  Your  drafts  on  Uncle  Johnny!  "  laughs  his  adored. 

And  at  her  suggestion  the  doting  Dillon  entrusts  to 
her  all  his  orders  upon  the  bank  of  Monsieur  Lass, 
obtained  from  the  ransom  of  the  Turkish  Vizier,  as  he 
has  already  given  her  his  diamonds.  Locking  these 
documents  up  in  a  little  safe  Madame  Hilda  has  for 
her  jewelry  and  trinkets,  the  lady  presently  suggests 
supper. 

"Ah,  bedad,  you  haven't  forgotten  my  weakness, 
Hilda!''  laughs  O'Brien.  "  When  I'm  not  making  love  or 
fighting  I  m  eating  or  drinking." 

So  putting  a  strong  arm  round  her  fairy  waist  the 
Irish  officer  escorts  his  spouse  to  the  dining-room, 
where  a  delightful  petit  souper  has  been  prepared — but 
not  for  him:  O'Brien  drinking  libation  after  libation  to 
the  Comtesse  Dillon. 

During  this  fete  a  little  comedy  scene  takes  place. 

Rosalie  is  in  attendance  upon  them — a  mass  of 
wondering  eyes  and  suppressed  giggles. 

"Sure,  any  one  would  know  this  little  banquet  was 
got  up  for  the  man  you  love,  my  darling!  "  says  the 
General,  attacking  a  pate  de  Strassburg.  "  You've  even 
remembered  my  favorite  champagne." 

On  this  unexpected  announcement  Mademoiselle 
Rosalie,  unable  to  contain  herself,  flits  out  of  the  room 
and  goes  into  hysterics  in  the  neighboring  pantry. 

But  an  awful  contretemps  follows  after — one  that 
might  in  a  breath  have  become  a  tragedy. 

The  general  making  himself  at  home,  seeing  the 
little  blackamoor  in  an  adjoining  apartment,  cries: 
"Come  here!  "  And  the  boy  entering,  headdresses  him 
with  the  ease  of  the  master  of  the  house:  "Sambo, 
what's  your  name  ?  " 


214  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

"Apollo!" 

•  •  Well  then,  Apollo,  my  shoes  at  nine  in  the  morning, 
and  don't  forget  to  burnish  my  silver  buckles.  You 
know  me  ?  " 

"Yes,  Moussou,"  returns  Apollo,  "you'se  the 
gen'leman  I  brought  de  nottie  to — you'se  Moussou  the 
Comte  D " 

But  Rosalie  is  behind  the  boy  and  her  quick  fingers 
grip  his  neck  destroying  utterance  and  the  latter  part 
of  the  name  is  destroyed,  as  she  whirls  Blackamoor 
away,  crying:  "Remember  your  master's  boots  at  nine, 
lazy  Apollo ! " 

"Faith,  he  knows  me,"  laughs  the  general,  and 
turning  eyes  upon  Hilda,  he  exclaims:  "Darling  of 
me  heart,  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

She  is  trembling  and  her  face  is  white,  for  she  thinks : 
"If  he  discovers  now — he'll  kill  me!"  As  indeed  he 
would. 

"  Only  my — my  sudden  happiness, "  she  gasps.  "I 
— I  thought  if  the  Turks  had  slain  you. " 

"Be  Saint  Patrick !  you  need  have  no  more  fears,  my 
shivering  lamb!  "  replies  O'Brien,  "now  that  thy  lord 
and  master  has  come  home." 

"  My  master  ?  "  says  Cleopatra  looking  at  him  with 
open  eyes. 

"Aye!  thy  master!  "  returns  Dillon,  taking  playfully 
her  fairy  ear  between  his  great -thumb  and  finger. 
'  *  The  master  who'll  love  you  and  RULE  you,  Madame  la 
Comtesse  Dillon." 

And  this  turn  though  it  astonishes  her,  pleases  her; 
her  volatile  spirit  has  grown  tired  of  adulation  and 
deference  from  sycophantic  courtiers  and  even  the 
Regent  of  France. 

"Then  I  am  my  lord's  obedient  handmaid!"  she 
whispers,  and  gives  him  a  mocking  courtesy  of  deference, 
but  all  the  time  she  looks  up  at  her  big  Irish  warrior  as 
Cleopatra  looked  at  Julius  Caesar  when  she  was  his 
slave  and  did  his  bidding — not  as  Cleopatra  gazed  at 
Antony  whom  she  commanded  and  destroyed. 

The  Marc  Antony  business  came  afterwards! 

And  in  this  attitude,  as  she  drapes  her  robes  about 
her  to  give  grace  to  her  movement  of  obeisance,  she 
looks  perchance  more  alluring  than  the  Eastern 


A     PRINCESS    OF    PARIS.  215 

queen.  One  little  hand  is  extended  to  her  conqueror, 
the  other  drawing  back  the  glistening  skirt  from  a  foot 
sandaled  with  pale  blue  satin  and  an  ankle  gleaming  like 
pinkest  coral  through  its  weblike  silken  hose.  Her 
lips  parted  with  a  little  sigh  of  delight,  her  blue  eyes 
beaming,  her  arms  and  shoulders  gleaming  in  the  light, 
and  over  all  the  charm  of  ineffable  but  indescribable 
coquetry. 

Looking  at  this,  her  Irish  lord  whispers:  "By 
Venus  and  the  Muses,  I'd  go  through  a  hundred  battles 
of  Belgrade  for  such  a  SECOND  HONEYMOON  ! " 

At  his  words,  this  fairy  Cleopatra  becomes  a  blushing 
Goddess  of  Love. 


CHAPTER  XX. 
O'BRIEN  DILLON  AT  HOME. 

THUS  it  comes  about  that  early  in  the  next  forenoon, 
pretty  little  Rosalie  Lutin  trips  up  to  D'Arnac's  apart- 
ments, to  the  joy  of  Lanty,  who  gives  wild  yells  of 
delight  on  seeing  her,  and  promptly  inflicts  kisses  upon 
her,  by  way  of  punishment,  for  not  notifying  him  she 
was  still  with  her  old  mistress. 

"By  all  the  powers  of  the  other  world,  if  I  had 
known  ye  were  the  little  darling  that  was  going  to  meet 
the  general,  and  take  him  to  Paradise,  faix  I'd  have 
been  knocking  at  the  gates  behind  him,  my  darling. 
Did  ye  come  here  to  bring  me  a  kiss  ?  Yer  mistress 
knew  me  master  was  in  town  yesterday;  why  couldn't 
ye  have  been  of  an  equally  inquiring  disposition  ?  " 

"  My  mistress  knew  of  your  master's  being  in  town 
yesterday  ?  "  giggles  the  girl. 

'"Deed  an'  she  did.  Didn't  she  send  him  the 
prettiest  little  note  in  the  world,  to  bid  him  to 
come  to  her  ?  Bedad !  you  ought  to  have  seen  him 
showing  it  in  triumph  to  his  friend,  the  Count  d'Arnac." 

At  this  announcement,  little  Rosalie  cannot  refrain 
from  shrieks  of  uncontrollable  laughter.  Finally  check- 
ing this,  though  she  still  holds  her  sides,  she  says: 
"I  have  been  sent  over  to  bid  you  follow  me  to  your 
master's  new  home,  with  all  his  baggage  and  belong- 


2l6  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

ings  He  says  his  wife  has  a  house  fit  for  a  prince, 
and  it's  a  long  time  since  he's  been  under  his, own  roof, 
and  he'll  stay  there." 

"  Fortunately  it  is  not  much  baggage  we  have!" 
remarks  Lanty,  "  only  two  hand  valises  and  this  little 
belt  I  carry  strapped  round  my  waist.  We  military 
gentlemen  travel  light." 

Seeing  a  look  of  disdain  upon  Rosalie's  face  at  this 
paucity  of  impedimenta,  the  Irishman  adds:  "Sur^ 
there's  many  a  duke  would  like  to  travel  with  this  little 
belt  of  mine.  Bedad,  it  contains  half  a  million  ducats' 
worth  of  diamonds  when  the  general  is  not  wearing 
them. " 

"Yours  ?  ''  cries  Rosalie,  matrimony  beaming  in  her 
eye. 

"  No,  the  general's!  " 

"Oh!  "  quite  disappointedly.  Then  a  moment  after 
she  laughs:  "Won't  my  mistress  be  delighted!  " 

"  Divil  doubt  she  will  when  she  sees  'em!  Many's 
the  duchess  would  have  liked  to  have  married  our 
plunder  when  we  came  back  from  Belgrade !  "  mutters 
Lanty,  making  his  preparations.  Then  giving  word 
of  his  master's  orders  to  D'Arnac,  he  departs,  followed 
b"y  a  couple  of  serving  men  he  has  picked  up,  carrying 
the  luggage,  and  with  little  Rosalie  trotting  compla- 
cently by  his  side. 

But  on  the  walk  over,  apparently  the  secret  in  her 
pretty  mind  is  so  amusing,  so  side-splitting,  that  she 
cannot  keep  it  entirely  to  herself,  for  Lanty  all  this 
day,  on  seeing  D'Arnac  or  his  master,  looks  at  them 
with  very  curious  eyes,  and  sometimes  unable  to  contain 
himself,  walks  out  of  the  room,  and  indulges  in 
tremendous  guffaws,  whistles,  and  such  irreverent  and 
ambiguous  remarks  as:  "  Wirra!  was  there  iver  known 
the  like  of  it  ?  "  "  By  me  soul,  it  must  have  been  the 
divil's  own  surprise  to  that  enchantress!  "  "  What  will 
become  of  us?"  "Good  Lord!  if  the  general  iver 
knows,  they'll  be  butcherin'  each  other!  " 

But  O'Brien  Dillon's  advent  into  Paris  produces  new 
and  curious  effects  upon  other  people  than  his  servant. 

Monsieur  Lass,  desiring  to  see  Madame  Hilda,  to  ask 
her  to  use  her  influence  to  gain  an  additional  conces- 
sion from  the  Regent  for  his  India  Company  that  he 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  21 7 

and  De  Conti  have  organized  shortly  before  this,  and 
which  embodies  the  main  scheme  of  this  gentleman,  to 
ultimately  get  control  of  the  finances  of  France,  his 
bank  being  merely  a  stepping  stone  to  this,  drives  to 
Madame  de  Sabran's  residence  to  receive  a  shock  that 
makes  even  his  cool  brain  reel. 

Entering  this  lady's  house,  perchance  a  little  uncere- 
moniously, he  is  received  by  Madame  Hilda,  who 
comes  to  greet  him  in  most  enchanting  morning 
neglige",  her  eyes  very  bright,  her  cheeks  perchance  a 
little  blushing  but  wonderfully  radiant  and  fair,  as  she 
astounds  him  with  these  impulsive  words:  "'Uncle 
Johnny,"  congratulate  me!  I  am  once  more  a  jiappy 
bride." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  says  Lass  hurriedly,  for  her 
appearance  indicates  a  curious  change  has  come  over 
this  volatile  lady. 

"What  do  I  mean  ?  I  mean  he  who  called  you 
'  Uncle  Johnny,'  has  arrived." 

'*DiabU!"  mutters  Lass,  growing  pale,  for  no  man 
on  this  earth,  save  the  Irish  Major,  had  ever  applied 
such  a  term  to  him.  Then  after  a  moment  he 
steadies  himself  and  laughs:  "This  is  some  joke  of 
yours,  Miss  Badinage — you  don't  mean  it!  " 

"I  mean  O'Brien  Dillon  has  come  back  to  me  a 
general  in  the  Austrian  service  and  Count  of  the  Empire. 
And,  furthermore,  he  has  brought  back  the  plunder  of 
the  Grand  Vizier  and  his  harem  with  him,  and  blazes 
with  diamonds  worth  half  a  million  ducats.  In  fact," 
continues  Hilda,  perchance  a  little  maliciously,  "  I 
think  he  would  be  just  the  person  to  subscribe  for  the 
stock  of  the  new  India  Company  that  we  are  getting  up 
— my  husband  and  I  will  make  investment!  " 

"Your  husband  ?  " 

"Yes!"  Here  she  astounds  him.  "  The  husband 
who  has  come  back  to  my  arms — the  husband  that  I 
love  '  " 

"  The  hjusband  that  you  love  !  You  love  too  many," 
sneers  Lass  savagely. 

"  But  this  one  I  ADORE.  This  one  I  have  determined 
to  KEEP." 

"For  how  long?"  mutters  the  financier  sulkily. 
Then  he .  goes  on,  affecting  lightness:  "Pooh!  it  is 


2l8  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

some  little  jeu  d'esprit  of  yours.  Ma  belle — you  are 
telling  me  a  fairy  tale." 

"  Is  that  a  fairy  tale  ?  "  laughs  Hilda,  throwing  open 
a  portiere. 

And  "Uncle  Johnny's"  knees  knock  together  and 
tremble  under  him  as  he  sees,  seated  in  the  most 
comfortable  armchair  in  the  house,  the  one  devoted  to 
the  use  of  the  Regent  himself,  in  all  the  domestic 
content  of  home,  the  wild  Irishman,  who,  he  knows,  has 
sworn  to  kill  him,  taking  his  ease  in  dressing-gown  and 
slippers,  and  enjoying  with  that  comfort  peculiar  to  a 
man's  own  hearthstone  a  long  pipe  made  fragrant  with 
the  fumes  of  smoking  Virginia  tobacco. 

"  Come  in,  my  Uncle  Johnny!  "  cries  O'Brien  affably. 
"  All's  well  that  ends  well!  And  faith  I've  forgiven 
you,  though  it  was  hard  work;  but  the  dear  creature 
pleaded  for  you,  and  told  me  of  the  great  things  you 
had  done  for  her,  and  how  you  had  made  her  rich  by  bank 
stock,  and  were  giving  her  a  great  chance  in  your  India 
scheme.  Bedad!  What  is  hers  is  mine,  so  I  thank  you 
for  it.  Sapristi !  as  your  treachery  to  me  only  drove 
me  to  the  Turks  to  capture  a  vizier  loaded  down  with 
diamonds,  and  get  a  ransom  from  him  of  eighty  thousand 
ducats,  by  my  soul !  you  need  not  be  frightened  of  me !  " 

For  at  the  sight  the  financier  has  started  back 
astounded  and  aghast. 

"Come  in,  and  have  a  bite  with  us,"  continues  the 
General  hospitably.  "We're  just  finishing  breakfast, 
and  the  Comtesse  Dillon  will  be  happy  to  receive  you 
and  do  the  honors." 

He  waves  the  astounded  financier  to  a  seat,  for  like 
most  Irishmen,  O'Brien  Dillon  has  that  peculiar  faculty 
of  accepting  the  good  things  the  gods  have  given  to 
him,  very  much  as  if  he  deserved  it,  and  along  with  his 
wife 'he  has  taken  possession  of  the  grand  mansion 
(given  to  this  lady  by  the  Regent,  though  he  does  not 
know  it,  and  furnished  with  all  the  taste,  and  splendor, 
and  lavishness  of  the  Royal  Exchequer)  as  easily  as  if 
he  had  earned  it  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  or  the  blows 
of  his  sword. 

But  the  gentleman  he  speaks  to  is  a  man  of  equal 
presence  of  mind  and  resources. 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  219 

Monsieur  Lass  comes  in,  claps  O'Brien  lightly  on  the 
shoulder  and  says:  "I'm  happy  to  see  you.  As  you 
suggest — let  bygones  be  bygones.  I  did  what  I  thought 
best  for  my  niece's  interests;  but  as  you  have  won  a 
title,  and  she  accepts  you  again,  I  have  nothing  more 
to  say." 

Then  he  runs  on,  a  twinkle  in  his  keen  grey  eyes: 
"We  had  supposed  you  dead.  News  had  come  that  you 
had  fallen  at  the  battle  of  Belgrade!  "  And  there  is  an 
attempted  sigh  in  his  voice  as  he  murmurs:  "  Hilda, 
this  will  be  hard  news  for  the  young  Duke." 

"  Oh,  divil  doubt  it!  "  laughs  O'Brien.  "There  will 
always  be  plenty  of  moths  after  such  a  flaming  light  as 
this!  "  and  he  points  to  Hilda,  who  is  even  more  charm- 
ing in  the  ne'gligJ  of  the  morning,  with  its  alluring  laces, 
lawns,  and  broideries,  and  flowaway  sleeves  and  float 
away  train,  to  give  ruffled  petticoat  and  delicate  hosiery 
and  petite  slippers  a  chance,  than  she  had  been  in  the 
full  dress  of  the  evening  before. 

So  they  all  sit  down  together,  Monsieur  Lass  kindly 
taking  a  pipe  to  accompany  the  Comte  of  the  Empire. 

Soon  they  are  a  merry  party. 

For  on  hearing  O'Brien's  account  of  his  darling's 
note  that  had  come  to  him  telling  him  of  a  waiting  wife, 
and  how  he  had  popped  into  the  house  to  find  himself 
just  as  much  a£  home  as  if  he  had  been  born  there, 
Monsieur  Lass  gives  one  or  two  piercing  glances  at 
Hilda  that  bring  color  to  her  cheeks,  and  though  he 
strives  to  fight  them  down,  for  the  life  of  him  cannot  help 
tears  of  merriment. 

On  this,  the  newly  made  Comtesse  covers  her  confu- 
sion by  bursts  of  laughter  at  Dillon's  story,  and  O'Brien 
joins  with  her  from  very  pride  and  joy. 

"  Yes,  your  return  home  must  have  been  a  delight  to 
Madame  Hilda!"  giggles  the  financier,  his  eyes  twink- 
ling and  his  thin  lips  smiling  the  cold  smile  of  the  man 
who  discerns. 

A  little  after,  however,  the  Irish  benedict  puts  this 
doting  spouse  in  a  pet  and  makes  Monsieur  Lass  very 
meditative.  Chancing  t<>  have  no  lighter  Convenient  for 
his  pipe,  O'Brien,  after  the  easy  manner  of  a  man  in  his 
own  house,  picks  up  a  sheet  of  paper  lying  upon  a  neigh- 
boring table,  and  is  about  to  make  use  of  it. 


220  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"Not  that!"  cries  Hilda,  suddenly.  "It's  a  poem 
— a  great  poem  in  manuscript!  " 

"Faith,  I  always  loved  the  muses!  "  remarks  Dillon, 
easily,  and  commences  to  peruse  the  document;  but 
soon  bursts  out  very  much  after  the  manner  of  a  man 
who  is  determined  to  be  the  head  of  his  own  household. 
"What's  this  I  see?"  he  says.  "A  poem  to  the 
beauteous  Madame  de  Sabran,  by  Poinsinet  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  remarks  Monsieur  Lass.  "  He  is  one  of  the 
foremost  litterateurs  of  the  day ;  he  wrote  the  celebrated 
poem  called  '  The  Circle. ' ' 

"Then  he  could  put  his  pen  to  better  use  than  writ- 
ing up,  with  so  much  ardor,  the  beauties  of  that  baggage 
Sabran !  I  have  heard  of  her.  Bedad !  in  Vienna  they 
call  her  'The  Princess  of  Paris.'  She's  the  Regent's 
jade."  And  Dillon  coolly  crumples  up  in  his  big  hand 
the  verses  Monsieur  d'Orleans  had  paid  Poinsinet  to 
write  to  the  charms  of  his  adored,  and  uses  them  to 
ignite  his  tobacco. 

"Take  a  light  yourself,  Uncle  Johnny!  "  he  says, 
complacently.  "Up  go  the  charms  of  the  naughty 
minx  in  smoke !  " 

At  this  Lass  gives  two  horrible  suppressed  gasps  of 
laughter,  and  remarks:  "Don't  you  know  that  Madame 
de  Sabran  is  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Paris  ?  " 

"No,  she's  not,"  cries  O'Brien,  stontly  "the  most 
beautiful  woman  in  Paris  is  there ! "  and  he  points  to 
Hilda,  who  is  blushing,  yet  biting  her  lips  till  they 
bleed.  "I  will  defend  the  charms  of  the  Comtesse 
Dillon  against  those  of  any  other  woman  in  the  world, 
with  sword  and  pistol.  Faith,  who  should  be  a  better 
judge  of  her  beauty  than  her  husband  ?  " 

"  Quite  true  !"  replies'Lass.  "  Though  they  say  that 
Madame  de  Sabran  looks  very  much  like  the  Comtesse 
Dillon." 

"Yes,  and  the  nearer  she  comes  to  her,  the  more 
lovely  the  baggage  will  be!"  answers  the  uxurious 
Irishman,  turning  admiring  eyes  upon  the  beautiful  face 
that  is  opposite  him,  which  is  now  a  mass  of  blushes 
mingled  with  uneasy  laughter. 

A  moment  after  O'Brien  goes  on  quite  dictatorial!}', 
for  he  has  been  used  to  command  in  camp,  and  does 
not  propose  to  give  up  his  epaulettes  when  in  his  own 


A     PRIM   ESS     01      PARIS.  221 

house:  "  Comtesse  Dillon,  I  have  a  slight  suspicion 
that  you  know  this  Madame  de  Sabran.  Do  you  ?  " 

"Yes,"  stammers  Hilda,  "  s-s-slightly." 

At  which  Uncle  Johnny  gives  a  hideous  chuckle  under 
his  breath. 

"  Now  I  think  of  it,"  cries  Dillon,  "  as  I  was  poking 
about  one  of  your  bureaux  this  morning  looking  for  a 
place  to  store  my  extra  uniform,  I  ran  across  an 
envelope  addressed  to  her.  Are  you  intimate  with  this 
Madame  de  Sabran  ?  " 

' '  Y-e-es ! "  This  is  a  half  sigh  from  the  lady  addressed. 

"Great  powers!     Mayhap  she  visits  you." 

"Sometimes!"  giggles  Lass,  the  smoke  from  his 
pipe  seeming  to  get  into  his  throat  and  stifle  him  about 
this  time. 

"Then,  Hilda,  you  have  my  commands,"  continues 
Dillon,  "Madame  de  Sabran  is  never  to  put  her 
naughty  foot  in  this  house  again.  I'll  not  have  the 
Comtesse  Dillon  associating  with  the  likes  of  her. 
You  hear  me  ?  "  for  Hilda  has  given  a  half  gesture  of 
dissent  at  his  words.  "THAT  SETTLES  IT!  " 

And  Comte  Dillon  goes  on  smoking  placidly,  and 
believes  it  does  settle  it,  though  a  hasty  glance  that 
passes  between  Hilda  and  Monsieur  Lass,  means  that 
IT  SETTLES  HIM! 

For  the  financier's  look  is  very  serious,  and  the 
Comtesse  Dillon's  eyes  are  blazing,  her  face  crimson, 
and  her  little  foot  in  its  silken  stocking  and  petite  slip- 
per is  beating  a  devil's  tattoo  on  the  rug  beneath  it. 
She  has  not  been  accustomed  to  being  dictated  to  by  the 
Regent  of  France,  and  does  not  take  it  very  kindly 
from  her  new  found  lord  and  master. 

A  few  remarks  of  the  latter  tend  to  precipitate  his  fate. 

He  casually  insinuates  that  in  a  day  or  two  he'll 
take  his  wife's  fortune  under  his  protection — women  are 
better  on  an  allowance. 

"Not  that  I'll  stint  ye,  my  darling — but  home  is 
the  place  for  ladies  "who  love  their  lords,  and  they 
think  all  the  more  of  their  husbands  if  they  have  to 
ask  them  when  they  want  extra  folderols, "  he  gener- 
ously adds. 

This  makes  Madame  Hilda  pout  and  bite  her  red  lips 
at  a  great  rate. 


222  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

In  tne  next  breath,  the  doting  husband  announces 
after  a  month  or  two  of  the  delights  of  Paris  he  shall 
take  the  Comtesse  Dillon  back  with  him  to  Vienna, 
to  show  her  beauty  at  the  Imperial  court.  ' '  Parbleu  .' " 
he  remarks,  "that  will  be  a  hint  to  a  certain  arch- 
duchess, of  the  reason  that  O'Brien  Dillon  never  had 
eyes  for  her  entreating  glances." 

A  little  of  this  makes  the  conversation  lag,  for  Hilda 
seems  to  have  gone  into  a  brown  study,  and  Uncle 
Johnny's  pipe  goes  out  very  often  as  he  smokes  it  medi- 
tatively. 

The  Irishman  finds  he  is  doing  all  the  talking  him- 
self, and  very  shortly  suggests:  "Comtesse  Dillon, 
my  darling,  run  and  get  your  doting  husband's  coat. 
I'm  bursting  to  tell  my  good  fortune  to  my  friend 
D'Arnac!  Egad!  you  should  have  seen  the  fellow  look 
at  me  when  I  showed  him  your  letter.  He  seemed  more 
surprised  than  even  I." 

"Very  well,  darling, "  replies  his  spouse,  whom  his  last 
sally  has  nearly  driven  in  confusion  from  the  room. 
"Here  is  your  coat.  Am  I  not  obedience  ?  I'm  more  than 
that.  Go  off  and  make  a  night  of  it  with  your  old 
comrade.  When  you  return, "here  she  turns  roguish 
eyes  on  him,  "  you  will  find  in  your  home  the  wife  who 
loves  you!  " 

Then  giving  him  one  or  two  very  sweet  cai esses, 
and  calling  him  her  wild  Irish  boy,  she  sends  O'Brien 
Dillon,  Comte  of  the  Empire,  out  into  the  streets  of 
Paris,  with  very  proud  and  haughty  stride. 

As  soon  as  he  has  gone,  Hilda,  taking  a  quick  look 
around  the  room,  falters:  "What  shall  we  do?  If  he 
hears  I  am  Madame  de  Sabran — Man  Dieu!  What 
may  he  not  do  to  me  !  "  and  she  wrings  her  hands. 

"  Do  you  love  him  now?"  laughs  Lass. 

"  Not  well  enough  to  be  taken  to  Vienna  by  him — 
not  well  enough  to  be  called  a  jade  and  forbidden  to 
put  foot  in  my  own  house — not  well  enough  to  have  my 
property  coolly  taken  as  his — not  well  enough  to  be  the 
slave  of  an  Irish  general,  when  I  have  the  Regent  of 
France  at  my  feet!  "  cries  Hilda  with  blazing  eyes  and 
crimson  cheeks. 

"  I  had  supposed  that  would  be  your  determination. 
In  fact  it  is  the  only  one  of  common  sense!  If 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  223 

D'Orleans  hears  of  this — good-bye  the  Regent  of 
France — good-bye  Madame's  dream  of  glory  and  wealth 
and  power!  That  would  not  suit  you,  eh  ?"  sneers  the 
financier. 

"No!  but  what  to  do  ?  " 

"Oh,  leave  that  to  Uncle  Johnny!  "  remarks  Monsieur 
Lass  complacently.  "  And  now  to  other  matters.  You 
must  see  D'Orleans  immediately!  The  next  concession 
that  I  have  proposed  for  the  India  Company,  we  must 
have  at  once.  Your  words  will  help  us  ?  " 

"  Don't  I  know  that  very  well  ?  "  laughs  Hilda,  who 
seems  to  have  regained  confidence  and  spirit  at  the 
Scotchman's  words.  Then  she  says  coaxingly,  yet 
imperiously:  "My  twelve  hundred  shares  of  the  new- 
stock  ? " 

"Yes,  when  it  is  issued." 

"  Don't  forget!  or  perhaps  you  had  better  make  it 
fifteen  hundred.". 

"Fifteen  hundred  it  shall  be,  ma  belle  financier! " 
remarks  Lass.  "  But  you  must  give  up  O'Brien  Dillon 
into  my  hands!  " 

"  That  I  will,  with  pleasure,  with  delight,  with  JOY!  " 
cries  the  changeable  beauty. 

"Perchance  Monsieur  d'Arnac,  the  young  gentle- 
man who  escorted  you  on  that  wild  night  ride,  may 
console  you  for  the  loss  of  husband  ?  A  letter  reached 
the  wrong  man — eh,  ma  belle  ?  " 

And  with  these  words,  and  a  cool,  sinister  smile, 
Monsieur  Lass  steps  hurriedly  out  of  Madame  de 
Sabran's  house,  and  going  to  his  bank  with  clouded  brow, 
sends  for  the  Prince  de  Conti. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

THE   FIRST    MASSE    SHOT    AT    BILLIARDS. 

AT  HIS  message  De  Conti,  who  is  very  much  interested 
in  most  of  the  schemes  of  Monsieur  Lass,  comes 
hurriedly  to  the  Palais  Mazarin. 

In  the  private  office  of  the  bank  the  .two  hold  earnest 
conference. 


224  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

After  hearing  the  banker's  story,  De  Conti  remarks: 
"  Little  Cupid  de  Moncrief  helped  me  with  the  other  man 
who  was  in  our  way.  Supposing  we  get  the  advice  of 
Monsieur  le  Procureur  du  Roy  ?  This  matter  should  be 
done  legally." 

A  messenger  being  sent,  half  an  hour  afterwards 
Charles  de  Moncrief  is  shown  in.  He  listens  placidly 
to  De  Conti's  advice,  and  Lass'  description  of  the  affair 
— a  great  deal  of  which  he  knows  much  better  than  the 
gentlemen  who  tell  it. 

Then  after  meditation  he  replies  slowly:  "If  you  will 
leave  the  matter  to  me,  I  think  this  Irish  general  from 
Vienna  will  trouble  you  and  his  pretty  wife  no  more." 

"  But  this  must  be  done  legally  !  "  argues  De  Conti. 

"And  you,  Monsieur  le  Prince,  would  come  to  the 
Procureur  du  Roy,"  says  Cupid,  drawing  himself  up, 
with  stern  dignity,  "to  suggest  anything  outside  the 
law  ?  This  affair  shall  be  accomplished  legally.  But  I  am 
to  have  fifteen  hundred  shares  of  the  new  stock! " 

"Fifteen  hundred!"  groans  De  Conti.  " Mafoi ! 
what  will  be  left  for  me  ?  " 

But  Lass  is  a  greater  man  than  De  Conti.  He  knows, 
though  the  price  asked  is  high,  the  service  is  worth  it. 
He  says  hurriedly:  "  There  will  be  plenty  for  you, 
Monsieur  le  Prince,  and  for  all  of  us  before  long.  The 
fifteen  hundred  shares  of  the  new  stock,  when  issued, 
shall  be  yours,  Monsieur  de  Moncrief.  Only  you  must 
do  as  you  promised,  legally  and  at  once — for  speed  is 
vital !  The  Regent  must  give  us  a  further  concession. 
Then  we  will  have  a  whole  hemisphere  to  draw  upon — 
THE  NEW  WORLD! 

"France  is  four  thousand  miles  away  from  it;  we  can 
throw  around  Louisiana  the  fable  of  romance.  We 
can  have  gold  mines  there  and  none  can  say  us  nay. 
We  can  talk  silver  mines  and  none  can  say  we  lie.  The 
diamonds  of  Golconda  will  come  to  us— and  who  shall 
say  where  they  come  from,  but  above  all,  behind 
this  proposition,  we  have  the  great  undeveloped, 
exhaustless  wealth  of  a  new  land  that  some  day  will 
be  greater  than  any  country  of  the  globe.  I  have  had 
reports  from  trusted  agents  in  Quebec  and  Canada. 
I  have  also  the  secret  report  of  the  Chevalier  La  Salle, 
who  explored  the  Mississippi,  from  those  great  inland 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  22$ 

fresh  water  seas  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  it  states 
the  land  is  grander  and  will  be  more  productive  than 
all  of  the  colonies  that  once  made  old  Spain  the 
richest  country  ever  known !  " 

With  this  he  expands  into  a  scheme  of  glorious  colo- 
nization and  development  that,  had  it  been  carried  out, 
would  have  caused  a  French  civilization  to  come  to 
both  America  and  the  East  Indies,  instead  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  one  that  triumphed  forty  years  after,  because 
France  ran  away  with  a  prosperity  that  came  to  it  too 
unexpectedly  and  too  suddenly,  and  went  crazy  in  its 
impulsive  Gallic  way,  because  in  six  years  Monsieur 
Lass  raised  it  from  utter  poverty  to  a  prosperity  until 
that  time  unheard  of. 

At  him  with  open  mouths  and  watering  lips  both  his 
co-adjutors  gaze.  They  are  both  greedy  to  the 
hearts'  core,  and  such  visions  of  boundless  wealth  as  he 
predicts  makes  them  drunk  with  love  of  money. 

De  Conti  whispers,  with  rolling  eyes  and  trembling 
lips,  to  De  Moncrief  as  they  depart  together  : 
"  Morbleu  !  if  he  can  do  what  he  says,  what  a  pie  for 
us  to  pick,  my  little  Cupid. "  For  in  this  Prince's 
ignoble,  yet  bizarre  brain,  has  come  a  scheme  not  only 
of  picking  the  pie,  but  of  picking  every  one  connected 
with  it,  and  picking  them  clean  as  ever  starving  dog 
picked  unexpected  beef-bone. 

But  this  makes  Cousin  Charlie  work  very  hard  for  his 
fifteen  hundred  shares  of  new  stock. 

De  Moncrief  goes  to  cogitating,  and  thinks  it  is  just 
as  well  that  he  should  see  the  whereabouts  of  the  gentle- 
man on  whom  he  is  to  put  his  evil  eye;  concluding, 
from  what  Monsieur  Lass  has  told  him,  D'Arnac's 
quarters  will  be  as  likely  a  place  as  any  in  Paris  to  find 
O'Brien  Dillon. 

Strolling  over  by  the  Bridge  Au  Change,  he  marches 
straight  through  the  broad  Boulevard  de  Palais,  over 
the  He  de  la  Cite,  and  crossing  by  the  Pont  St.  Michel, 
soon  finds  himself  at  the  Rue  Christine,  just  in  time  to 
take  part  in  a  very  jovial  dinner. 

At  the  table  O'Brien  Dillon  is  enthusing  over  his  new 
found  happiness,  and  announcing  his  Hilda  is  more 
beautiful  than  ever,  though  a  little  wayward.  "  Bedad! 
though,  I  soon  showed  her  that  I  was  the  cock  who 


226  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

would  crow  in  that  barnyard.  I  burned  up  a  poem 
written  to  that  jade  De  Sabran's  eyebrows,  and  ordered 
the  -Comtesse  Dillon  never  to  let  the  trollop  in  my 
house  again."  Then  his  eyes  grow  severe.  "What 
the  divil  are  you  giggling  for,  Lanty  ? "  he  cries. 
"Divil  take  you!  I  don't  know  what's  come  into  ye. 
For  the  last  three  hours  you've  done  nothing  but 
grimace.  It's  that  little  Rosalie  has  made  you  too 
happy,  but  it's  not  nice  for  a  servant  standing  behind 
a  man's  chair  to  take  part  in  the  amusement  of  the 
company.  Where  are  your  manners  ?  " 

At  which  Lanty  exits,  though  they  can  hear  his 
merriment  through  the  open  door. 

To  his  greeting  Dillon  says  affably:  "I'm  right  glad 
to  see  ye,  Charlie  de  Moncrief.  We'll  have  some  great 
nights  of  it  in  Paris  together  and  I'll  show  you  my  new 
stroke  at  billiards.  I'm  going  to  astonish  Paris  with  it 
to-night.  Raymond,  I  think  I  can  win  a  thousand 
crowns  at  least  this  evening.  Lanty  has  picked  out  the 
place.  It's  a  billiard  cafe  on  the  Quai  des  Augustines; 
there's  quite  a  little  sprinkling  of  the  high-betting  nobil- 
ity in  the  place  each  evening. 

"The  stroke  is  a  peculiar  one?"  asks  Cousin  Charlie. 

"Faith,  it's  the  most  wonderful  punch  with  the  stick 
ever  invented.  It's  like  the  work  of  a  wizard  or  a 
sorcerer.  I've  me  stick  which  Lanty  made  me  for  the 
purpose,  with  a  piece  of  leather  stuck  on  the  end  of  it. 
Come  and  see  me  do  the  stroke  to-night,  Monsieur 
le  Procureur.  Raymond  is  too  much  interested  in  the 
young  girl  who  saved  both  our  lives  to  come  with  me.  By 
the  blessing  of  God  some  day  we'll  make  her  an  actress." 

For  Raymond  has  used  Mademoiselle  Quinault  as  an 
excuse  to  get  away  from  his  friend,  whose  eternal  bab- 
bling of  the  beauties  of  Madame  Hilda  drives  him  to 
despair. 

After  a  little,  O'Brien  gets  to  explaining  his  wonderful 
shot  to  them  more  definitely,  finally  illustrating  it  by 
making  coins  spin  and  telling  them  it  will  perhaps1 
frighten  ignorant  lookers-on.  "Devil  take  me,"  he 
laughs,  "perhaps  they'll  think  me  a  magician!  " 

On  hearing  this  a  bright  yet  sinister  gleam  twinkles  in 
Cousin  Charlie's  eyes.  He  says-  '"When  do  you  da 
the  shot  ? " 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  227 

"This  evening.  You  can  see  me  if  you'll  come  to 
the  Cafe  St.  Michel,  near  the  bridge  of  that  name,  on 
the  Quai  des  Augustines,  about  nine  o'clock." 

"  Thank  you,"  replies  Cousin  Charlie;  "your  explan- 
ation of  the  stroke  has  very  much  interested  me.  I  will 
try  and  witness  your  triumph." 

A  little  after  he  takes  his  leave,  for  De  Moncrief"  has 
a  good  deal  of  work  to  do  this  afternoon  and  now 
thinks  he  sees  his  way  to  doing  it. 

Then  Raymond  departs  for  the  Hotel  de  Chateau- 
brien. 

So,  a  little  before  nine,  on  this  bright  evening,  which, 
though  dark,  seems  very  pleasant  to  the  happy  and  con- 
tented soldier  of  fortune,  O'Brien  Dillon,  attended  by 
Lanty  carrying  his  "magic  wand,"  as  he  calls  it,  steps 
into  the  Cafe  St.  Michel  from  the  Quai  des  Augustines. 

The  Seine  is  flowing  dark  and  silent  beside  the  street 
that  is  almost  deserted  now,  though  a  few  people  pass- 
ing from  the  He  de  la  Cite"  across  the  St.  Michel  Bridge 
move  along  the  street. 

But  if  it  is  dark  without,  the  cafe  inside  is  bright  with 
many  burning  candles  and  a  few  oil  lamps.  Its  two 
billiard  tables  are  made  with  board  beds  and  solid  wooden 
cushions,  and  have  some  holes  upon  their  surface, 
into  which  the  players  of  that  day  sometimes  drove  their 
balls,  very  much  as  boys  play  marbles  at  the  present 
time. 

These  are  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  excited  players, 
among  them  several  of  the  young  bloods  of  the 
court,  who  have  just  taken  up  this  amusement. 

With  these  gentlemen  Dillon  soon  makes  himself  con- 
spicuous; announcing  himself,  in  his  easy  Irish  manner, 
as  count  of  the  Empire,  and  a  general  in  the  Austrian 
service,  "and  the  best  billiard  player  that  ever  put  mace 
to  a  ball!" 

"Indeed,  I  doubt  that,  with  your  permission, 
Monsieur  le  Comte!  "says  a  young  gentleman,  standing 
by.  "  Permit  me  to  introdure  myself — the  P.nnm  <!<• 
Pontineux!  I  shall  be  proud  to  uphold  the  honor  of  my 
country  in  any  game  of  skill  you  may  suggest !  " 

"  Very  well,  hu/urds  and  cannons!  "  remarks  O'Brien, 
"for  one  hundred  livres  ! " 

"Agreed!  "  replies  the  young  gentleman. 


228  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

And  the  two  take  off  their  coats,  as  the  stake  is 
rather  high;  O'Brien  Dillon  removing  also  his  cavalry 
sabre  that  clanks  at  his  heels,  and  his  pair  of  trusted 
pistofs,  to  give  greater  freedom  to  his  arm  and  move- 
ment of  his  body  about  the  table. 

The  two  go  to  playing,  and  find  themselves  quite 
evenfy  matched.  After  a  game  or  two,  the  stakes  grow 
higher,  and  the  crowd  leaving  the  other  table  gather 
about  to  witness  the  more  exciting  game. 

During  this  time  the  cafe  has  been  filling  up  rapidly, 
and  not  by  any  means  with  gentlemen  of  station  or 
rank.  A  number  of  more  commonly  dressed  people 
surround  the  table,  a  few  of  these  almost  disreputable 
as  to  their  clothes,  bearing  and  odor. 

"Parbleu!  "  remarks  the  young  baron,  "Mine  host,  your 
company  have  a  greasy  smell  about  them  this  evening!  " 

This  makes  a  few  of  those  standing  around 
growl,  but  O'Brien  laughs  nonchalantly:  "Pay  atten- 
tion to  your  game,  my  dear  Baron.  Don't  bother  your- 
self with  the  canaille.  Let  the  poor  creatures  look  at 
gentlemen  at  play." 

So  the  game  goes  on,  with  varying  fortune,  the 
stakes  always  growing  higher,  until  they  have  wagered 
one  thousand  livres  on  the  result. 

And  now  O'Brien  Dillon,  with  the  true  soul  of  the 
gamester  who  will  win  or  lose  all  at  the  hazard  of  a  die, 
remarks  carelessly:  "By  Saint  Patrick!  you  seem  to 
doubt  my  skill,  my  young  friend.  Perhaps  you  do  not 
think  I  can  make  this  shot — the  carom  from  the  red  to 
white!" 

"That  is  impossible  for  mortal  man!  "answers  his 
opponent  decidedly;  for  the  stroke,  a  very  simple  one 
to  the  players  of  to-day,  was  unheard-of,  unthought  of, 
and  absolutely  impossible  to  the  implements  and  skill 
of  the  experts  of  that  time. 

"  Very  well;  look  on  me  and  see  me  do  it!  " 

"Not  for  five  thousand  livres!"  cries  the  Baron. 
Then  he  examines  the  shot  and  remarks;  "Your  ball 
would  have  to  run  forward  and  then  run  back.  IT  WOULD 

BE    CONTRARY    TO    THE    LAWS    OF    GOD ! " 

"Then  see  me  break  the  laws  of  God! — I  take  that 
bet,  and  I'll  double  it,  if  you've  got  the  stomach  for  me 
skill!  "  chaffs  the  general  lightly. 


A     PKINCKSS     OF     PARIS.  229 

"  Take  it  ?  Of  course  I  do!  Never  was  ten  thousand 
livres  gained  so  easily !  "  replies  the  young  man. 

And  numerous  other  bets  are  offered  to  this  Irish 
general,  whom  those  surrounding  him  think  insane  to 
offer  such  a  wild  proposition. 

One  or  two,  however,  shudder  and  say:  "It  is  wicked 
to  bet,  for  if  he  wins  it  will  be  the  black  art." 

Taking  all  these  wagers  very  rapidly,  until  there  are 
no  more  to  bet  against  him,  O'Brien  Dillon,  who  likes 
the  coup  de  theatre,  says:  "Behold  me!  Now  Lanty 
bring  me  MY  MAGIC  WAND!" 

This  remark  is  indiscreet,  for  half  the  people  of  that 
day  believed  in  magic — the  other  half  feared  it. 

"Coming,  your  Honor!  "  cries  Lanty,  bringing  the 
weapon  demanded. 

"  This  is  the  magic  of  it!  "cries  O'Brien,  and  taps 
the  leather,  at  which  some  of  them  look  upon  him  with 
frightened  eyes. 

Then  he  cocks  the  stick  on  high,  and  in  a  bungling 
manner,  but  still  effectively,  strikes  straight  down  upon 
the  ball,  the  leather  tip  catching  the  sphere  and  giving  it 
what  is  now  called  reverse  English. 

With  gaping  lips  and  open  eyes  the  crowd  watch. 
The  rolling  ball  flies  along  the  table  and  strikes  the  red, 
then  of  course  it  must  go  forward  on  its  path. 

It  stops! — Horror!  It  is  coming  back!  Horror!  Hor- 
ror!— It  takes  a  wondrous  and  mysterious  curve  and 
caroms  on  the  white.  Horror!  MAGIC!  HORROR! 

"I'll  take  your  money,  my  young  friend,"  cries  O'Brien 
Dillon,  delighted  at  his  stroke,  though  it  would  have 
been  no  great  performance  to-day — and  grins  in 
triumph  at  the  shuddering  crowd. 

BUT    NOT    FOR   LONG ! 

There  is  a  cry  of  horrified  terror  from  the 
assemblage,  and  shouts  of :  "The  wizard!  the  wizard 
of  Notre  Dame,  has  come  back!  The  sorcerer! 
Burn  him!  Into  the  Seine  with  him!  Drown  him  or 
he'll  murder  us  with  the  black  art!"  "Demon!" 
"Magician!"  "Asteroth!"  "  BicF.i./i-.in'i; !  "  and  other 
wild  and  awful  screams. 

And  with  this  shriek  the  crowd  are  upon  him,  and 
before  O'Brien,  taken  by  surprise  at  this  tremendous  and 
unexpected  rush,  can  grab  sabre  or  pistols,  he  is  seized 


230  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

by  a  hundred  superstitious  arms  and  tossed  in  the  air 
and  dashed  to  the  earth. 

In  scarce  a  second  he  has  no  clothes  on  his  back  and 
is  naked  as  when  born:  some  thieves  purloining  one  or 
two  very  fine  diamonds  the  sorcerer  has  upon  him. 

In  a  flash  and  a  yell  they  are  out  upon  the  Quai,  and 
have  dragged  him  over  the  stones,  banging  him  about 
till  he  is  nearly  insensible;  but  all  the  time  rushing  the 
fainting  Irish  Asmodius  rapidly  along. 

Lanty,  who  is  fighting  with  arms  and  feet,  sees  his 
master  disappear  in  the  distance,  but  can't  make  after 
him,  being  even  now  engaged  with  a  couple  of  billiard 
markers  and  three  or  four  garfons  of  the  street. 

A  minute  after  with  one  billiard  marker  left  for  dead, 
and  the  breath  almost  out  of  the  other,  he  breaks  from 
them  and  reaches  the  Quai  des  Augustines. 

O'Brien  Dillon  and  the  crowd  have  vanished. 

He  thinks  he  sees  them  on  the  Bridge  St.  Michel, 
and  rushes  after,  but  in  the  darkness  and  the  narrow 
streets  of  the  oldest  part  of  Paris,  he  misses  them. 
Then  he  wanders  searching  for  half  an  hour,  and 
finally  thinks  he  must  have  aid. 

Though  his  own  coat  has  been  torn  from  him,  he  goes 
wildly  over  into  the  main  portion  of  the  town,  and 
flying  to  the  Rue  St.  Honore  has  pointed  out  to  him 
the  Hotel  de  Chateaubrien. 

There,  after  some  confab  with  the  flunkeys,  and 
piteously  begging  to  have  a  word  with  the  Comte  d'Arnac, 
he  is  finally  admitted. 

His  appearance  is  more  that  of  a  drunken  man,  or  a 
maniac,  than  of  a  being  of  common  sense;  but  Raymond, 
Seeing  that  his  face  is  very  serious,  cries:  "Come  in!" 
and  drags  him  into  a  bright  room  where  pretty  Mimi  and  a 
lovely  girl  who  has  just  been  giving  some  recitation,  or 
reading,  look  at  him  with  startled  eyes. 

To  them  he  tells  his  story. 

"Pooh!  it's  nothing — only  a  riot!  Trust  O'Brien 
Dillon  to  get  out  of  that!  "  remarks  D'Arnac. 

"But  they  said  'BURN  HIM!  '  they  yelled  '  INTO  THE 
SEINE  WITH  HIM? '"  answers  Lanty. 

"  Then  I'm  with  you  in  a  minute,"  replies  Raymond, 
and  they  leave  the  two  wondering  women  in  the  great 
hotel,  and  coming  out  upon  the  street  get  conveyance, 


A      1'KINCKSS     oF     I'Aklx  231 

and  drive  down  to  the  Cite.  They  pati»ol  its  street-, 
and  make  inquiry  of  the  archers  standing  on  duty  about 
the  various  bridges,  but  can  hear  no  word  of  the 
missing  man. 

Then'they  drive  back  along  the  Pont  St.  Michel  and 
still  do  not  come  upon  him,  and  finally  return  to  the 
cafe".  Here  they  can  get  no  information  from  the 
proprietor,  who  is  going  about  half  crazy,  for  in  the 
melee  one  -of  his  billiard  tables  has  been  broken,  his 
line  oil  lamps  have  been  destroyed,  and  half  the  fixtures 
of  his  establishment  have  been  made  into  kindling  wood. 
He  gabbles:  "  Mon  Dieu  !  if  I  could  find  him — the  sor- 
cerer— the  black  art — Asmodeus  himself  has  been  here ! 
One  of  my  billiard  markers  lying  half  dead,  the  other  dis- 
abled for  life !  God  knows  what  will  happen!  If  the  police 
come  upon  me  I  am  a  ruined  man!"  and  wrings  his 
hands  piteously. 

For  the  gendarmes  of  France  of  that  day  had  very 
much  the  same  ideas  of  justice  as  the  police  of  the  pres- 
ent time.  They  must  have  a  guilty  man,  and  when 
they  could  not  find  the  guilty,  generally  took  the  inno- 
cent, if  he  were  worth  the  plucking. 

Here  D'Arnac  says:  "I  must  have  further  advice!" 
and,  suddenly,  thinking  of  De  Moncrief,  cries:  "Cousin 
Charlie  will  help  me!  " 

They  go  to  the  rooms  of  the  Procureur  du  Roy,  but 
Cousin  Charlie  is  not  in,  and  after  waiting  for  him  for 
two  hours  the  old  gentleman  saunters  in  and  cries: 
"Hallo,  Raymond,  my  boy — what's  the  matter?  You 
look  serious." 

"Yes — Count  Dillon!  He  played  his  great  shot  with 
his  magic  stick,  and  the  crowd  seized  him  and  cried: 
'Sorcerer!  into  the  river.' ' 

"  And  divil  a  one  of  the  spalpeens  paid  their  bets," 
adds  Lanty  ruefully. 

"Did  they  put  him  in  the  river?"  asks  Cousin 
Charlie  hurriedly. 

"No;  I  think  not.  We  can't  tell  what's  become  of 
him." 

' '  Then  let  us  go  to  the  Lieutenant  of  Police.  My  name 
will  gain  us  instant  admission  even  at  this  time  of 
night,"  remarks  De  Moncrief,  who  apparently  is  anxious 
about  the  Irish  General's  fate  himself. 


232  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

They  drive,  rapidly  to  the  bureau :  But  the  head  of 
the  office  is  not  in,  and  a  gentleman  who  represents  him 
named  Celestin,  with  mild  eyes  and  placid  face,  does 
not  know  anything  about  it,  and  cannot  tell,  though  he 
makes  inquiries  with  apparent  great  care  among  his 
officials. 

But  none  know  anything  of  Count  O'Brien  Dillon, 
and  none  ever  do  know  anything  of  Count  O'Brien 
Dillon,  for  though  D'Arnac  tries  both  police  and  munic- 
ipal authorities,  and  even  goes  to  the  court,  and  then 
to  his  old  chief,  the  Due  de  Villars,  and  Prince  Eugene 
of  Savoy  writes  a  letter  to  the  Regent  of  France,  asking 
what  has  become  of  his  officer,  it  is  almost  as  if  this 
earth  had  never  known  O'Brien  Dillon,  General  in  the 
Army  of  Austria,  and  Count  of  the  Empire,  after  he 
made  his  magic  shot  in  the  Cafe  St.  Michel  on  the  Quai 
des  Augustines. 

Doubtless  he  is  dead! 

At  least  his  two-honeymoons  bride  thinks  so.  For 
after  a  very  little  time  she  produces  his  drafts  upon 
Uncle  Johnny's  bank,  and  makes  Monsieur  Lass  liqui- 
date them  to  the  last  livre,  and  takes  possession  of 
plunder  of  the  Turk — for  the  beautiful  Hilda  de  Sabran 
has  all  the  diamonds  of  the  Ottoman  Vizier,  and  the 
great  crescent  and  its  star  blazes  on  her  fair  brow  at 
many  a  court  festival  and  many  a  theatre  fete  and  many 
a  Regent's  supper  party. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

A    NIGHT    AT    THE    FRANCAIS. 

BUT  though  others  give  up  the  search  for  O'Brien 
Dillon,  Raymond  does  not. 

"A  general  and  a  count, "  this  young  gentleman 
reasons,  with  all  his  pride  of  rank,  "was  not  born  to 
conquer  the  Turk  and  then  be  slain  by  the  scum  of  a 
billiard  cafe". " 

He  continues  his  inquiries  and  investigations,  and 
finally  offers  a  reward  of  five  thousand  livres  to  any  one 
who  can  give  him  information  tending  to  elucidate  the 


A     PR1NCKSS     OK     PARIS.  233 

mystery  of  his  friend's  apparent  disappearance  from  the 
face  of  the  earth. 

"You're  very  foolish,  my  dear  boy,"  remarks  Cousin 
Charlie  on  hearing  of  this  step.  "  If  the  police  cannot 
find  him,  how  can  any  one  else  ?  " 

"I  do  not  trust  the  police,"  replies  D'Arnac  hastily. 

"Not  trust  them!"  ejaculates  De  Moncrief,  appar- 
ently very  much  shocked  at  this  lack  of  respect  for  the 
powers  that  be.  "Why  not?  The  Bureau  de  Surete 
have  made  every  effort." 

"Yes,  apparently,"  rejoins  Raymond,  "but  Celestin 
has  never  even  taken  the  trouble  to  have  the  morgue 
watched  for  Dillon's  body.  Therefore  I  argue  Celestin 
knows  where  my  friend  is.  If  the  head  of  the  bureau 
knows,  some  of  his  underlings  also  do,  and  it  is  to  their 
avaricious  souls  my  reward  is  offered." 

"  Mon  Dieu!  five  thousand  livrts  won't  tempt  any- 
body NOW!"  sneers  De  Moncrief.  "They  can  make 
ten  times  that  amount  gambling  on  the  Rue  Quincam- 
poix  in  Monsieur  Lass'  Mississippi  securities." 

For  it  was  now  the  year  1718,  in  which  commenced 
the  first  little  wave  of  that  gigantic  stock  speculation 
which  was  ultimately  to  make  Paris  crazy. 

"  Pardieu  !  but  some  of  them  have  no  money  to  make 
a  beginning.  That  one  may  come  my  way !  But  I  have 
other  affairs  on  my  mind!"  returns  D'Arnac,  rising. 

"Oh,  of  the  theatre — La  Quinault's  dtbut  is  arranged 
for  June  i4th  ?  "  queries  De  Moncrief. 

"  Certainly!  " 

"Then  what  troubles  you  ?"  laughs  Cousin  Charlie, 
noting  concern  on  the  young  man's  face.  "Will  little 
Jeanne  not  pay  attention  to  La  Desmares'  elocution,  or 
does  she  refuse  to  practice  her  steps  with  Mademoiselle 
Prevost  ? " 

"Sometimes  one  and  sometimes  the  other,"  snarls 
Raymond.  "She  has  a  liiable  of  a  will  of  her  own." 

Then  drawing  himself  up  he  continues:  "  I  now  go  to 
exercise  my  authority  as  guardian.  She — she  has  an 
admirer'  "  This  last  in  a  kind  of  half  sigh. 

"An  admirer  ?     Ha!   ha'      Ho!   ho.'     Who?" 

"A  reptile  of  an  actor,  whose  head  1  will  break  !" 
cries  D'Arnac,  and  goes  away,  leaving  Monsieur  le 
Procutx-ur  with  wildest  hopes  in  his  subtile  brain  that 


234  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

the  fascinations  of  the  debutante  at  Le  Francais  will 
give  him  another  chance  at  the  Crevecceur  estates;  for 
it  is  land  he  wants  most  now. 

He  has  already  made  a  million  with  his  India  stock, 
and  hopes  to  make  four  or  five  more  in  the  big  game 
just  commencing  on  the  Rue  Quincampoix,  the  little 
street  in  which  the  first  great  scheme  of  stockbroking  to 
remove  money  from  the  pockets  of  the  general  public 
and  place  it  in  the  hands  of  promotors  of  finance  had  its 
origin — the  place  in  which  began  the  Paris  Bourse, 
and  to  which  we  owe  the  London  Stock  Exchange  and 
Wall  Street,  with  all  their  achievements  for  human 
greed  and  human  woe. 

With  his  efforts  to. discover  the  fate  of  his  friend, 
D'Arnac  has  now  upon  his  hands,  perchance,  a  more 
difficult  duty,  that  of  controlling  the  budding  beauties, 
the  bizarre  mind  and  the  electric  art  of  the  young  lady, 
who,  rumor  has  commenced  to  say,  will  make  a  great 
triumph  on  the  Parisian  stage. 

"  Egad!  she's  sure  to  enchant  him,"  chuckles  Cousin 
Charlie,  who  has  seen  and  approved  of  this  young  lady's 
powers  of  fascination.  Already  he  forgets  la  Sabran 
for  Quinault's  witcheries. 

And  this  is  really  so,  for  Jeanne  is  becoming  an 
enchantress  to  every  one  about  her,  though  perhaps 
more  to  others  than  to  this  gentleman  she  playfully  calls 
her  soldier  guardian. 

A  strange  bashfulness  seems  to  overcome  this  young 
lady,  who  is  archness  itself,  whenever  Monsieur 
d'Arnac  strolls  into  the  theatre  or  sees  her  at  his 
sister's  hotel,  where  la  Quinault  is  living,  greatly  to  the 
envy  of  her  brother  and  sister  artists  of  the  Franfais, 
who  reside  in  much  less  elegant  and  aristocratic 
luxury. 

On  arriving  at  the  Hotel  de  Chateaubrien,  D'Arnac 
gets  some  of  this  mixed  with  a  little  tantrum  that 
astounds  him. 

Madame  Mimi  comes  to  him  and  says  pathetically: 
"  I'm  so  glad  you're  here.  She  is  in  hysterics  in  her 
room. " 

"Why?" 

"  Your  aunt  has  made  me  a  visit." 

"Clothilcle  ?" 


A     I'KIM'KM-     ill       I'AKIS.  235 

"  Yes;  Jeanne  chanced  to  return  from  her  rehearsal 
before  the  countess  left  and  they  had  a  fearful 
combat." 

"  \\ 'beii^li!   With  their  hands  ?"  laughs    Raymond. 

"Oh,  don't  jeer — it  was  terrible!  Madame  de 
t'revecoeur  doesn't  like  Jeanne,  and  remarked  sneer- 
ingly  to  her  that  she  was  sorry  she  had  forgotten  her 
convent  teachings." 

"'What  does  Madame  la  Marquise  insinuate?' 
asked  Mademoiselle  Jeanne  very  haughty  and  freezing. 

"  'Why,'  answered  Clothilde, '  did  not  the  nuns  teach 
you  that  if  you  went  on  the  stage  you  would  be  defiled  ? 
That  no  actress  can  be  buried  in  consecrated  ground  ?  ' ' 

"  Diable !     then     there    was    a    tragedy." 

"  More,"  answers  Mimi,  though  she  can't  help  smil- 
ing, "  there  was  a  scene  from  the  Inferno.  Mon  Dictt .' 
what  a  success  that  child  will  make  upon  the  stage!  She 
grew  two  feet  taller,  and  then — WENT  CRAZY!  Clothilde 
fled  from  her  as  she  would  from  a  pythoness  possessed, 
and  I  slipped  out  of  the  room  on  tiptoe.  At  present  the 
tragedienne  is  upstairs  in  her  room  doing  the  grand  act 
before  a  mirror,  I  imagine. " 

"  At  present  the  pythoness  is  at  your  elbows!"  is 
whispered  in  so  weird  a  voice  that  Raymond  turns  with 
a  start,  and  starts  agam  as  he  sees  a  figure  in  whicli 
comedy  and  tragedy  are  strangely  blended. 

Miss  Jeanne  has  great  red  exaggerated  eyes,  from 
weeping.  She  is  garbed  again  in  convent  uniform,  but 
catching  Raymond's  eye,  she  gives  him  the  wink  of  a 
soubrette. 

' '  Diable  !  "  cries  the  young  man.  ' '  What  is  the  mean- 
ing of  this  masquerade  ?  " 

''I  put  it  on,"  answers  Jeanne,  grandly,  "to  go  back 
to  the  convent  again  to  do  penance  to  remove  from  me 
the  sin  of  rehearsal. "  This  last  is  said  with  an  awful, 
vivacious,  vicious  sneer. 

"  Then,"  she  goes  on  pathetically,  "I  changed  my 
mind,  and  concluded  to  be  a  lost  soul  for  my  art's 
sake.  But  hearing  your  voice,  my  young  guardian 
general,  I  ran  down  to  get  scolded  and  punished,  so  I 
—I  could  be  naughty  again."  With  this  last  idea  she 
gives  the  astonished  but  admiring  Raymond  a  wicked, 
but  most  enchanting  pout. 


236  A     PRINCESS     <h 

"  Yes,  you  have  been  a  very  bad  girl,"  says  D'Arnac, 
assuming  a  grand  and  martial  manner. 

"  Of  course ;  that's  my  normal  state ;  isn't  it,  Mimi  ?  " 
jeers  the  comedienne.  "  Look  at  him — he  is  putting  on 
the  airs  of  an  officer.  He'll  treat  me  as  if  I  were  one 
of  his  soldiers,  and  beat  me  with  a  cane,"  and  making  a 
mocking  military  salute  she  stands  before  him  in  the 
attitude  of  attention. 

"Bah!  "  laughs  Raymond,  "You  could  soften  even 
the  heart  of  a  provost  marshal." 

"  But  not  that  of  your  aunt,  Madame  la  Comtesse  de 
Crevecceur, "  sneers  the  young  lady.  Then  she  sud- 
denly bursts  out  laughing.  "  What  have  I  really  done  ? 
I  know  you  came  here  to  scold  me  for  something."  Next 
pouts  at  him:  "  That's  what  you  always  do  now." 

"It  is  because  I  take  an  interest  in  you,"  mutters 
D'Arnac  quite  tenderly. 

"  Ah,  that's  what  makes  me  take  your  scoldings  so 
nicely,"  says  the  young  lady  playfully. 

"  But  if  it  is  to  be  a  long  one,"  interjects  Mimi, 
"suppose  we  all  go  into  dinner.  You  can  be  severe, 
Raymond,  between  courses. " 

Over  the  table  they  have  quite  a  little  discus- 
sion. Monsieur  d'Arnac  produces  two  letters  and  says 
sternly:  "Jeanne,  attention!" 

"Yes,  General!  Just  one  more  piece  of  lobster,  and 
I  am  under  your  guardian  thumb." 

"This  is  a  serious  matter.  I  have  a  note  here  from 
Mademoiselle  Desmares,  who  threatens  to  give  up 
teaching  you.  You  will  not  follow  the  old  reading  of 
Ph'edres  lines." 

"Of  course  not!  That's  how  I  am  going  to  get 
my  effects!"  cries  Jeanne.  "And  between  our- 
selves, I'm  going  to  make  a  lot  of  them — new  ones — 
revolutionizers  !  " 

"  You  think  you  will  make  a  success  ?  "  queries  Mimi 
anxiously. 

"  I'm  sure  of  it !  " 

"Why?" 

"  Because  all  the  other  actresses  hate  me  already, 
and  la  Desmares  cries :  '  Man  Dieu  !  What  will  become 
of  the  traditions  of  the  stage  ?  Where  Duclos  made 
them  shudder,  this  chit  is  going  to  make  them  cry  for 


A     PRINCESS     ()K     1'AKIS.  237 

her  and  pity  her!'  and  I  will,  too!"  says-  Jeanne 
savagely  :  "  I'll  torture  their  hearts!  " 

"This  second  letter,  Mademoiselle  Heart-twister," 
remarks  D'Arnac  sententiously,  "  is  from  the  celebrated 
Prevost,  who,  notwithstanding  her  great  fame,  kindly 
consented  to  teach  you  stage  dancing." 

"Yes,  I  supposed  she  would  write  to  you,"  laughs  la 
Quinault,  playing  with  a  truffle  daintily.  "She  wants  ire 
to  dance  like  a  ballet  dancer.  I  prefer  to  put  emotions 
into  my  skips  like  a  comedienne.  I  contrive  to  get  some 
of  my  brains  even  in  my  heels." 

She  emphasizes  the  last  with  a  sarcastic  dash  of  her 
fork  into  the  truffle,  which  she  transfers  to  her  pretty 
mouth;  then  laughs:  "What's  the  real  matter  ?  Why 
.don't  you  come  to  your  subject  ?  " 

"Very  well,"  says  Raymond,  sternly,  "you  have  an 
admirer." 

' '  A  dozen,  I  hope.  Already  Monsieur  le  Due  de  Villars 
has  been  to  see  me  twice,  at  rehearsal,  and  has  patted 
my  cheek,  and  kissed  it — what  do  you  say  to  that? " 

"I  am  not  referring  to  Monsieur  de  Villars,  or  any 
other  old  gentleman  of  the  army,  who  may  take  an 
interest  in  you  on  account  of  what  you  did  for  the 
regiment  of  my  poor  friend  Dillon,  at  Friburg, "  says 
Raymond.  "  The  man  I  refer  to  is  that  cursed  serpent 
of  an  actor,  young  Arnoul  Poisson." 

"Oh,  the  ugly  one!  " 

"Yes, "  replies  D'Arnac,  trying  to  be  stern.  "Did 
you  deliver  my  message  to  him  ?  " 

"Word  for  word!"  answers  Jeanne.  "I  said  to 
him :  '  Mon  Seigneur,  to  whom  I  do  homage,  General 
le  Comte  d'Arnac  has  asked  me,  Monsieur  Arnoul 
Poisson,  to  present  his  compliments  to  you,  and  to  say 
if  you  ever  dare  to  speak  to  me  again  off  the  stage  of 
the  theatre,  he  will  break  your  infernal  head!  '  That 
was  word  for  word,  I  believe,"  laughs  the  young  lady. 
"If  I  had  put  it  in  more  polite  language,  he  might  not 
have  believed  that  it  really  came  from  a  noble  to  an 
actor.  Then  I  went  on,  and  told  him —  '  here  she 
rises  and  courtesies  to  Mimi,  ceremoniously,  —  "that 
Madame  la  Marquise  de  Chateaubrien  had  kindly 
suggested  that  if  I  ever  walked  home  from  the  theatre 
with  young  Poisson  again,  she  would  like  to  box  my  ears. " 


238  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

"  Oh,"  cries  Mimi,  "  I  never  said  that!  " 

"  No,  but  you  looked  it." 

"Did  I?"  laughs  Madame  la  Marquise.  "Then 
forget  it,"  and  taking  Jeanne  into  her  arms,  she  gives 
her  many  tender  kisses. 

This  vivacious  young  creature  has  grown  into  the 
generous  heart  of  her  patroness,  and  has  gained  from 
her  love  and  affection,  and  gives  it  back  again  with 
interest,  for  she  returns  Mimi's  kisses,  and  purrs:  "I'll 
never  be  naughty  again ! " 

"Whenever  you  are,"  laughs  D'Arnac,  "  I  shall  have 
you  dressed  a  la  convent  again;  it  is  very  becoming." 

At  which  Jeanne  goes  to  blushing,  for  she  has  grown 
out  of  the  garb,  and  it  would  make  her  look  gawky 
were  not  her  figure  admirable  in  its  proportions,  and  her 
small  feet  and  beautiful  ankles,  of  which  it  makes 
liberal  display,  in  piquant  bottines  and  faultless  hosiery. 

"  If  you  threaten  me  with  this  dress  I  am  obedience 
itself,  tyrant,"  she  babbles. 

"Then  beware!  No  more  of  Monsieur  Poisson,  the 
younger!  " 

"  Very  well,  make  your  commands  and  I  obey,"  she 
says,  half  mockingly,  half  seriously,  and  coming  before 
him,  gives  him  her  most  humble  courtesy,  and  mur- 
murs, "  Mon  Seigneur. " 

Then  as  Raymond  goes  away  her  eyes  grow  tender, 
and  she  whispers  to  herself,  "What's  the  matter  with 
him  ?  Why  does  he  hate  that  ugly  little  Poisson  ?  " 
Here  suddenly  a  great  wave  of  blushes  flies  over  her 
face  and  she  puts  her  little  hand  upon  her  heart  to  stay 
its  wild  beating.  But  all  this  day  Jeanne  Quinault's 
laugh  is  lighter  and  her  spirits  seem  to  be  in  clouds 
which  are  gilded  by  the  brightest  sun. 

"  I  should  not  wonder, "  cogitates  D'Arnac  to  him- 
self as  he  leaves  the  hotel,  "  if  little  Jeanne  astounded 
the  Parisians.  She'll  give  'em  a  performance  of  la 
Phtdre,  the  like  of  which  they  have  never  seen  before." 

He  is  confirmed  in  this  opinion  a  moment  after. 

De  Villars,  meeting  him  on  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  as  Ray- 
mond salutes  him,  suddenly  turns,  and  putting  his  arm 
within  that  of  the  "boy  general,"  whispers  in  his  ear: 
"We're  going  to  give  a  great  actress  to  the  public,  eh, 
won  ami?  " 


A      I'KIM  'KS>     <)1       PARIS.  239 

"  I  hope  so,"  returns  Raymond. 

"  Diable!  Monsieur  Faintheart.  I  tell  you  yes," 
cries  the  Marechal.  "Doesn't  she  make  me  weep  at 
rehearsal  every  clay  and  the  next  minute  go  wild  with 
admiration  at  her  graces  incomparable!  " 

"  Now, "  continues  the  genial  old  warrior,  "I  have 
determined  to  make  our  protegee's  debut  a  great  one. 
The  Regiment  of  Alsace  is  stationed  only  twelve  miles 
out  of  Paris.  I  have  engaged  the  whole  gallery  for 
myself.  I  shall  order  the  Regiment  of  Alsace  to  occupy 
it.  Who  should  give  greater  plaudits  to  little  Jeanne 
Quinault  on  her  entree  to  the  stage  than  the  brave  men 
whose  lives  she  saved  when  she  was  a  child  ?  What  do 
you  think  of  the  idea  ?  " 

' '  Immense !"  answers  Raymond,  "  It  is  as  big  as  your 
kind  heart,  my  chief." 

"And  my  brilliant  brain,"  chuckles  De  Villars. 
"  There  are  only  two  hundred  and  fifty  men  alive  that 
she  personally  saved,  but  every  recruit  in  the  regiment 
knows  the  story,  and  his  bravas  will  be  the  loudest, 
because  he  will  think  that  will  prove  him  one  of  the 
heroes  of  Friburg.  The  officers,  of  course,  have  seats 
below.  When  Sergeant  Le  Boeuf  waves  the  banner  of 
the  regiment  with  Jeanne  Quinault's  name  upon  its 
folds,  every  man  of  them  will  yell  as  if  they  were  charg- 
ing a  battery.  Then  where  will  Monsieur  les  Critiques 
be,  eh,  man  garfon  ?  " 

"Nowhere!  "  cries  Raymond. 

' '  Precisely, "  remarks  De  Villars ;  then  sighs :  ' '  What 
a  night  it  would  have  been  for  poor  O'Brien  Dillon, 
their  old  Colonel !  What  a  curious  fate — to  return  rich, 
titled,  and  a  general,  to  be  wiped  from  the  face  of  the 
earth  in  a  row  in  an  ordinary  billiard  cafe"!  There's 
more  behind  this  than  either  you  or  I  know,  D'Arnac," 
continues  the  Marechal,  who  has  been  very  much  exer- 
cised over  the  disappearance  of  one  of  his  favorite 
officers  of  the  Army  of  the  Rhine. 

"Yes,  but  I  mean  to  solve  it,"  replies  Raymond  as 
De  Villars  squeezes  his  hand  and  dismisses  him. 

But  his  hopes  grow  gradually  smaller  and  smaller, 
day  by  day,  and  though  he  still  keeps  his  reward  before 
the  public,  no  clue  comes  to  him. 


240  \      PR1NCKSS     OF     PARIS. 

But  even  this  is  finally  driven  from  his  mind  by  the 
approaching  debut  of  Mademoiselle  Quinault  at  the 
Francais. 

Assisted  by  Mr.  Lanty,  who  has  bee.n  acting  as 
Raynold's  attache  since  his  master's  disappearance,  the 
young  officer  finds  himself  engaged  in  an  affair  of 
which  he  knows  practically  nothing,  but  is  desperately 
anxious  as  to  the  result.  Finally  he  makes  the  wise 
course  of  giving  over  all  the  details  of  the  debut  to 
Monsieur  Michel  Baron,  telling  him  to  do  everything  to 
make  it  a  success,  and  as  to  money  he  can  have  a  carte 
blanche. 

"  With  my  experience  and  your  protegee's  abilities,  I 
think  you  need  have  no  fear,"  remarks  the  veteran  of 
the  stage,  pocketing  a  check  for  a  goodly  amount. 

"You  think  she  has  talent  ?"  questions  Raymond, 
anxiously. 

"Talent?"  replies  Baron.  ''''Talent!  "  Then  he  shrugs 
his  shoulders  and  laughs.  "She's  brushed  fifty  years' 
cobwebs  out  of  the  Francais  at  rehearsal!  What  won't 
she  do  at  night!  " 

But  notwithstanding  this  prognostication,  as  the 
evening  of  June  14,  1718,  draws  on,  D'Arnac  finds 
himself  more  nervous  than  he  has  ever  been  at  any 
stage  of  his  life. 

At  two  in  the  afternoon  of  the  day,  he  wanders  past 
the  Theatre  Franfais.  At  half-past  two  he  finds  himself 
in  the  Rue  des  Fosses  Saint  Germain  again.  At  three  he 
strolls  into  the  Cafe  Procope',  opposite  the  theatre. 

Then  he  suddenly  bolts  for  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  for 
a  quick  and  awful  thought  has  come  to  him:  "  Per- 
chance Jeanne  is  sick!"  he  sees  so  little  signs  of 
movement  about  the  theatre. 

On  arriving  at  the  Hotel  de  Chateaubrien  he  is 
encountered  at  the  door  by  Mimi,  who  whispers: 
"Hush!  you'll  disturb  her — you'll  make  her  nervous. " 
Then  she  falters:  "  Raymond,  if  it  should  not  be  a 
success — if  little  Jeanne  should  fail — it  would  break 
my  heart." 

"Do  you  think  it  is  as  bad  as  that  ?  "  mutters  Ray- 
mond gloomily. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  cries  his  sister.  "  I  know  she'll  be 
a  great  hit.  Her  dresses  are  divine!  "  With  this,  she 


A      PRINCESS     OF     I' A  HIS.  241 

turns  on  D'Arnac  and  says  viciously:  "Why  do 
you  come  here,  to  make  me  nervous  ?  Leave  the  house 
this  instant'  The  child  might  see  you  and  have  a  fit. 
She  gave  me  this  note  for  you,  but  don't  come  on  the 
stage  until  the  performance  is  over." 

With  this  missive  in  his  hand,  Raymond  finds  himself 
expelled. 

On  the  doorstep  he  tears  it  open  and  reads: 

Mon  Seigneur  : 

Mimi  won't  let  me  see  you  because  she  says  I'm  nervous — but 
I'm  not — I've  only  cold  shivers. 

The  dresses  !     Oagh  !  the  dresses  ! 

God  bless  you  for  what  you've  done  for  me  !  Come  to-night 
and  see  a  butterfly  die,  but  don't  fear  for  your 

PHEDRE. 

Turning  this  extraordinary  effusion  over  in  his  mind, 
D'Arnac  goes  back  to  his  apartments  to  get  more  cold 
comfort  there. 

Seeing  Mr.  Lanty,  he  asks  him  what  he  thinks  of  the 
chances  for  the  night. 

"  Faix,  I  think  we're  in  a  very  bad  way,"  chuckles 
the  Irishman.  Then  he  goes  off  and  mutters  to  himself: 
"  He's  gone!  He's  getting  the  same  crazy  fever  that 
came  over  my  poor  master,  when  he  was  ruined  by  that 
beast  who  will  give  me  back  none  of  my  diamonds, 
though  I  have  been  after  her  with  prayers  and  impreca- 
tions every  day." 

For  Lanty  has  been  beseeching  la  Sabran  for  some 
of  the  jewels  of  the  Turk  with  very  indifferent  results. 

"Any  way,  you'll  be  there  to  applaud,  Lanty,"  calls 
Raymond  after  him. 

"Bedad!  Did  I  ever  refuse  free  tickets?"  returns 
his  servitor. 

At  this  assurance,  D'Arnac,  taking  out  his  watch, 
suddenly  thinks:  "Just  time  for  dinner  before  the 
performance." 

Bolting  off  to  the  Armenian  Cafe  in  the  Foire 
Saint  Germain,  he  meets  Achille  de  Soubise,  and  the 
two  make  their  meal  together,  D'Arnac  continually 
taking  out  his  timepiece  and  thinking:  "  In  an  hour — 
in  half  an  hour — in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  more!  " 

Finally  the  two  march  for  the  Theatre  Francais,  and 
arriving  near  the  entrance  see  an  immense  audience 
surging  into  the  old  theatre,  and  brilliant  equipages 


242  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

dashing  up  and  delivering  their  loads  of  beautiful 
women  and  distinguished  men — lots  of  them,  for  Paris 
under  Monsieur  Lass  has  been  growing  very  rich. 

A  moment  after,  he  and  his  friend  elbow  their  way 
through  the  foyer  to  find  the  Francais  nearly  filled. 

It  is  quite  a  military  audience.  Raymond  sees 
many  of  his  old  comrades  of  the  Rhine  campaign,  their 
gold  lace  flashing  among  the  beautiful  toilettes  of 
court  beauties  and  the  more  flaming  colors  of  the  wives 
of  city  magnates. 

So  they  come  crowding  in  till  the  boxes  are  now  all 
filled  save  one  reserved  for  the  Regent. 

Though  excitement  makes  almost  a  blur  before 
Raymond's  eyes,  he  notes  the  man  he  had  distrusted 
four  years  ago — Gaston  Lenoir — chatting  to  one  or 
two  court  ladies  in  De  Conti's  loge. 

Beside  him  sits  Cousin  Charlie  taking  snuff  nervously, 
for  just  now  Monsieur  le  Procureur  is  praying  with  all 
his  little  soul  la  Quinault  will  make  a  mighty  hit,  not 
only  on  the  audience,  but  upon  a  certain  young  gentle- 
man who  seems  so  anxious  this  evening. 

Presently  De  Villars  strolls  into  Raymond's  box, 
attended  by  two  or  three  of  his  staff,  and  chuckles  to 
the  young  man :  "  Look  at  the  gallery !  A  little  surprise 
for  Mademoiselle!  " 

Gazing  upwards,  D'Arnac  whispers:  "  The  Regiment 
of  Alsace  ? " 

"Yes,  every  man  primed  and  loaded.  They  are  to 
make  only  a  little  noise  till  I  give  the  signal — then 
Sergeant  Le  Boeuf  waves  the  banner  and  then,  Voila! 
Though  they'll  be  quiet  till  the  time  comes,  God 
help  the  critic  who  utters  a  word  against  their  savior. 
I  would  not  hiss  in  that  gallery  for  the  spoils  of  a  capt- 
ured city!  " 

A  moment  after  the  Regent  enters;  with  him  Monsieur 
Lass  and  two  ladies. 

But  Raymond  does  not  notice  them.  The  curtain  is 
going  up. 

The  opening  scenes  come  hazily  to  him.  He  is  only 
conscious  of  waiting,  though  the  cast  is  a  tremendous 
one. 

He  has,  by  means  of  influence  and  money,  induced 
Baron  to  volunteer  to  play  the  part  of  Hippolyte,  though 


A      1'R1XCK»     ul       PARIS.  243 

he  had  retired  from  the  stage  nearly  twenty  years  before. 

But  he  comes  on  with  all  his  old  youthful  fire,  gallant 
mien  and  dashing  bearing.  He  is,  as  he  was  of  yore, 
the  first  jeiiue  premier  of  the  stage,  and  above  all, 
France's  greatest  tragic  actor. 

The  audience  enthuse  to  him  en  masse. 

But  though  Raymond  follows  his  speeches  to  Thc- 
ramene,  he  is  always  waiting — waiting — waiting  for 
Phcdre. 

So  it  runs  on  to  the  third  scene,  when  Jeanne  will 
make  her  first  entree.  That  grand  entrance  where  the 
Grecian  queen  appears,  sick  with  the  awful  longing  of 
a  love  she  dare  not  gratify — the  unholy  passion  for  her 
stepson  Hippolyte,  for  which  she  curses  herself,  yet  lets 
her  imagination  revel  in. 

As  Phedre  falters  on,  half  supported  by  her  women, 
Raymond  fears  Jeanne  is  sick  almost  to  death  with  agita- 
tion, for  the  queen  is  like  a  lily  bud,  crushed  to  the  earth 
by  love.  But,  as  the  scene  goes  on,  the  recollection  of 
that  love  revives  her;  the  lily  expands  upon  its  stalk; 
and,  made  glorious  by  the  subtleties  of  remembered 
sensuous  passion,  changes  to  a  full  blown  rose,  glowing 
with  dazzling  color. 

Then  she  commences  to  sway  her  audience,  and  give 
them  passion  ALSO. 

They  gasp  at  her  astounded — Raymond  and  the 
public  as  well. 

This  role  that  had  always  been  to  them  a  stilted  tragic 
declamation,  becomes  in  her  that  of  a  loving,  despairing 
woman,  and  that  woman  not  only  Queen  of  Greece,  but 
queen  of  her  auditors'  hearts — whom  she  begins  to  charm 
by  her  exquisite  tricks  of  manner  and  naive  ways 
of  doing  the  little  things  of  the  play  to  make  these 
fascinating. 

To  sEnones  denunciation  and  abuse  of  Hippolyte 
all  former  Phedres  had  screamed  "Ah,  Gods!"  This 
one  sighs  it  forth,  and  makes  the  audience  sigh  with 
her,  for  she  is  causing  them  to  love  her  and  suffer  for 
her. 

In  this  she  has  one  potent  ally  to  all  her  art — her 
beauty!  which  she  has  made  pathetic  in  its  very 
unpretense,  for  her  costume  is  a  revelation  of  modest 
simplicity. 


244  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

Before,  other  Phedres  had  appeared  in  fashionable 
gowns,  and  had  even  sported  Watteau  plaits,  balloon 
hoops,  and  other  modiste  fads  of  court  costume. 

This  one  has  only  the  white  robes  of  ancient  Greece, 
that  give  full  play  to  the  graceful  beauty  of  her  limbs, 
as  from  beneath  its  classic  folds  peep  forth  two  tiny 
feet,  bare  as  when  Raymond  first  saw  them  on  that 
Friburg  night,  and  gleaming  pink  and  dimpled,  under 
Grecian  sandals. 

Above  all,  she  has  that  personal  magnetism — that 
divine  fire,  without  which  even  great  dramatic  art  is 
puny,  uneffective,  DEAD! — for  every  eye  pursue  her  as 
she  walks,  and  every  ear  drinks  in  the  ripple  of  her 
voice. 

So  she  comes  on  to  that  great  speech  that  tells  the 
actions,  fears,  and  guilty  blushes  of  a  woman  who  has 
in  her  soul  a  love  she  dare  not  reveal  to  other  eyes.  As 
she  speaks  these  lines  she  seems  to  blush  and  burn  with 
shame ;  she  seems  to  tremble  with  the  hidden  fire,  and 
her  eyes  scintillate  and  glow,  illumined  by  some  new 
and  strange  emotion  that  seems  to  frighten  her. 

Is  it  Phedre,  or  Jeanne  Quinault  who  speaks,  blushes, 
and  suffers  this  night  in  the  Theatre  Franyais  ? 

A  lady  sitting  in  the  semi-regal  box,  on  her  right, 
the  Duchesse  de  Prie,  on  her  left  hand  the  Due 
d'Orleans,  and  behind  her  Monsieur  Lass,  noticing  this 
pathetic  fire  in  the  young  actress'  eyes,  and  following 
their  gaze,  sees  that  they  light  on  Raymond ;  and 
trembles  herself,  and  pants  with  burning  rage,  and 
mutters  with  pale,  quivering  lips:  "At  last  my 
RIVAL!" 

For  De  Sabran,  since  her  husband's  disappearance, 
has  wondered  with  tortured  pride,  why  Raymond  came 
not.  For  he  has  avoided  her.  Some  half-suspicion  in 
his  mind  that  she  may  guess  the  reason  of  his  friend's 
taking  off,  has  kept  him  from  her.  For  with  all  his 
soul  Raymond  d'Arnac  knows  if  he  looks  upon 
Hilda's  glorious  eyes,  or  hears  her  voice,  he  will  be 
hers  forevermore ! 

Noting  the  wondrous  beauty  of  this  being  on  the 
stage,  the  glories  of  her  voice,  the  grace  of  her 
gestures,  the  loveliness  of  her  form,  De  Sabran 
suddenly  remembers. 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  245 

"  It  is  the  chit  at  Des  Capiteines,  who  had  the  childish 
admiration  for  D'Arnac,  whose  life  she  had  saved;  "  she 
moans  in  her  mind.  "This  is  the  budding  beauty 
that  has  kept  him  from  me!  "  The  ivory  sticks  of  her 
lace  fan  snap  with  one  vicious  grip  of  her  gloved  hand, 
and  with  all  her  unbridled  soul  la  Sabran,  court  beauty, 
and  Regent's  favorite,  hates  la  Quinault,  the  budding 
actress  of  Le  Francais. 

Just  as  she  breaks  her  fan,  the  house  breaks  forth,  for 
the  curtain  is  descending  on  the  first  act  of  the  play, 
and  the  audience  has  gone  into  a  French  hysterical 
emotion — but  it  is  nothing  to  what  is  to  come. 

"We  are  just  warming  ourselves  for  our  work," 
whispers  old  De  Villars  to  Raymond.  "I  have  not 
given  the  signal  yet,"  and  goes  off,  with  tears  of  pride 
and  triumph  in  his  eyes,  to  the  green-room  to  kiss  and 
congratulate  the  young  lady  in  whom  he  takes  so  much 
interest. 

D'Arnac,  remembering  his  sister's  injunction,  hesi- 
tates to  follow  him,  and  an  instant  after  is  seized  upon 
by  De  Rohan,  De  Soubise,  and  several  of  his  friends, 
and  dragged  off  to  the  cafe  Procope,  opposite,  to  drink 
the  health  of  the  coming  goddess  of  the  stage. 

"Pardieu!  he  is  her  guardian!"  is  the  whisper 
among  the  young  officers  of  the  army  and  the  nobles  of 
the  court.  "  THE  GUARDIAN  OF  LA  QUINAULT!  "  And 
they  look  at  him  with  envious  eyes. 

Cousin  Charlie,  who  has  come  over  with  the  boys, 
cries:  "  Sapristi 7  Are  we  not  all  jealous  of  you!  " 

Monsieur  Gaston  Lenoir  remarks,  with  his  polished 
bow  and  Spanish  smile:  "Per  Bacco !  D'Arnac,  who 
would  think  you  had  such  an  eye  for  beauty  in  the 
street  fight  that  night  at  Friburg  ?  " 

On  the  stage  Baron  says  to  Mademoiselle  Jeanne,  as 
she  finishes  bowing  her  acknowledgments  to  the 
audience,  "In  the  green-room,  you  will  have  your 
choice!  " 

"  Of  what  ?  "  whispers  la  Quinault. 

"Of  a  caress  and  congratulation  from  the  Regent  of 

France,  or  from    Le   Due  de    Villars,  or  some  advice 

''as    to     making  your    fortune     from    Monsieur    Lass. 

I  see  they  are  all  leaving  their  boxes  to   come  on  the 

stage." 


246  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

"  Then,"  laughs  Jeanne,  "  I  shall  choose  grandpapa's 
caress  first!  " 

In  this  prognostication  the  great  actor  is  right. 

D'Orleans,  as  the  curtain  descends,  whispers  to  Lass: 
' '  She  is  the  prettiest  actress  I  ever  saw !  " 

"Yes,"  replies  the  Scotchman,  "and  the  most 
natural." 

"Come!  I  will  give  her  the  kiss  of  royal  approba- 
tion," laughs  D'Orleans,  "and  you,  my  financier,  will 
give  her  a  hit  how  to  make  a  fortune." 

Overhearing  this,  as  the  two  leave  the  box,  a  fear  as 
to  her  own  loveliness — the  first  she  has  ever  had  in 
her  life — comes  to  De  Sabran. 

But  little  Jeanne  does  not  know  she  is  making  any 
enemies  this  night.  She  is  unaffectedly  happy. 

In  the  greenroom  she  walks  up  to  old  De  Villars 
and  receives  his  paternal  kiss,  and  her  eyes  grow 
triumphant,  as  he  whispers:  "lam  proud  of  you! 
Permit  me  to  present  you  to  his  Highness,  the  Due 
d'Orleans!  " 

Then  Jeanne,  making  profound  courtesy,  receives 
the  congratulations  of  the  first  gentleman  in  France. 

A  moment  after  the  Regent  says:  "  Ma  petite,  permit 
me  to  introduce  to  you  Monsieur  Lass,  a  gentleman 
who  will  kindly  give  you  hints  as  to  making  a  fortune 
off  the  stage,  as  well  as  on  it." 

On  t*his  suggestion  the  financier  is  delighted  to  offer 
his  assistance  to  the  young  lady  in  speculations  in  the 
India  stock  upon  the  street;  for  this  has  now  become 
the  prevailing  rage,  and  duchesses  and  comtesses  would 
give  much  for  the  few  words  the  comptroller  of  finance 
whispers  to  the  actress  of  the  Francais. 

Then  the  play  goes  on  again,  and  little  Jeanne 
produces  a  new  and  peculiar  effect  in  the  piece. 

Having  made  the  audience  adore  her  she  makes  them 
hate  those  who  do  not  love  her  on  the  stage. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  "  whispers  De  Villars  into  Raymond's 
ear,  tears  of  rage  in  his  honest  old  eyes,  "that  villain 
Hippolyte  does  not  love  her!  He  is  going  to  break  her 
heart — damn  him !  " 

And  the  audience,  agreeing  with  De  Villars,  curse 
Baron,  for  all  his  noble  speeches  of  indignation  at  the 
love  of  his  stepmother,  until  that  actor,  after  the  cur- 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  247 

tain  falls  upon  the  second  act,  goes  off  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  and  says:  "  Morbleu  !  she  is  a  witch  !  The  more 
virtuous  and  noble  I  am  upon  the  stage,  the  more  they 
hate  me,  because  this  Phedre  has  made  them  adore  her 
and  sympathize  with  her,  and  think  Hippolyte  a  cursed 
scoundrel  for  loving  Aricie,  the  other  woman." 

So  she  goes  on,  producing  peculiar  effects — not  those 
of  a  tragedienne,  but  those  of  a  comedienne  of  the  highest 
class,  bringing  tears  where  horror  had  come  with  other 
actresses,  until  at  last,  in  the  fifth  act,  as  Raymond 
gazes  at  her,  he  understands  what  she  has  meant  in  her 
note,  by  "seeing  the  butterfly  die  !  " 

In  this  poison  scene,  that  tragediennes  make  horrible 
and  awful,  little  Quinault  comes  on  to  die  in  a  robe  that 
makes  her  look  a  fluttering  fairy,  and  gives  to  it  the  suf- 
fering pathos  of  a  beautiful  soul  that  sighs  out  its  death 
of  passion — its  death  of  love — in  its  death  of  body.  Like 
the  butterfly,  she  becomes  more  beautiful  in  color  and 
effect  as  she  dies. 

The  audience  cry  and  sob  and  weep  for  her,  and  as 
Parope  ejaculates,  "  She  expires,  Seigneur  !  "  there  is  a 
sigh  of  sorrow — the  being  they  love  is  dead. 

Then,  unheard  of  before  in  the  Fran$ais,  the  speech 
of  Thcsee  is  not  heard. 

De  Villars  waves  his  hand  and  cries  "  NOW  !  " 

And  Lanty,  in  the  upper  balcony,  opens  the  action 
with  a  wild  blood-curdling  Irish  yell. 

The  big  sergeant  of  the  Regiment  of  Alsace  upwaves 
its  banner,  torn  with  Austrian  shot  and  shell,  and  bear- 
ing upon  it  the  name  of  Jeanne  Quinault. 

And  the  Regiment  of  Alsace,  with  the  same  wild  howl 
with  which  they  have  charged  many  a  German  battery, 
drown  the  more  feeble  plaudits  of  the  boxes  and  the 
pit — though  they  are  tremendous. 

Carried  away,  the  audience  go  into  that  emotional, 
ecstatic,  hysterical  Gallic  enthusiasm,  such  as  only 
Frenchmen  have,  and  a  captain  of  the  Regiment  of 
Alsace  shouts  from  below:  "  Throw  me  the  banner!  " 

The  sergeant  tosses  the  battle-flag  to  him,  and  he  runs 
upon  the  stage  and  drapes  the  bowing  actress  with  it. 

Then  pandemonium  reigns!  The  pandemonium  of 
la  Quinault's  triumph ;  for  the  story  has  got  noised 
about  of  her  heroism  when  a  little  girl — for  France. 


248  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

It  is  not  an  affair  of  the  theatre  now — it  is  a  triumph 
of  the  army — a  triumph  of  France. 

One  of  the  critics,  who  is  muttering  to  himself: 
"  Diable  !  what  are  ve  coming  to  ?  She  cut  a  line  in 
her  last  scene!  She  has  turned  Racine  upside  down 
for  her  own  effects!  "  is  suddenly  tapped  upon  the 
shoulder  by  a  dashing  lieutenant,  who  whispers  in  his 
ear:  "If  you  want  to  live — shut  your  vile  mouth!" 

Another,  who  lias  remarked :  "  She  is  pretty,  but  not 
a  tragedienne  !  "  receives  these  words  in  his  ear,  from  a 
ferocious  applauding  major:  "  Repeat  that  slander 
against  the  heroine  of  the  army,  and  to-morrow  I'll 
cleave  you  to  your  lying  jaws!  " 

So  the  curtain  falls  upon  Mademoiselle  Jeanne 
Quinault,  until  this  evening  unknown  to  the  world, 
now  one  of  the  greatest  stars  in  the  constellation  of  art. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE    FRIEND    OF    THE    ARMY. 

BUT  this  night,  which  is  Jeanne's  triumph,  is  not  all 
Jeanne's  happiness.  Towards  the  last  she  has  com- 
menced to  whisper  to  herself  with  trembling  lips:  "  He 
does  not  come.  Why  not  ?  Does  he  think  I  am  not 
worthy  his  praise  ?  " 

Turning  from  the  last  plaudits  of  the  vast  audience 
she  thinks,  "At  last!  Now  he  must  come," — but  finds 
him  not. 

Others  congratulate  her  and  go  away;  others  praise 
her  and  take  their  departure,  and  still  no  Raymond. 

Madame  la  Marquise  de  Chateaubrien,  who  has  been 
with  her  off  and  on  during  the  evening,  and  who  has 
even  now  tears  of  joy  in  her  eyes  over  the  triumph  of 
her  loved  protege,  keeps  gazing  about  for  her  brother 
and  wondering  why  he  of  all  men  is  not  here  to  say  one 
kind  word  to  Jeanne. 

Finally  the  two  stand  alone  together  in  the  green- 
room— the  auditorium  of  the  theatre,  judging  from  the 
sounds  that  come  to  them,  is  empty  also.  The  vast  audi- 
ence have  gone  away,  the  place  becomes  as  other  thea- 
tres when  deserted,  gloomy  and  bare  a-nd  desolate. 


A     PRINCESS     OK     1'ARIS.  249 

The  lights  are  being  put  out,  but  still  no  Raymond. 

"  I  am  unable  to  understand  this,"  remarks  Mimi,  a 
flicker  of  rage  upon  her  face.  "  My  brother  promised  to 
come  to  supper  with  us." 

"I — I  presume  he — he  has  forgotten,"  stammers 
Jeanne.  Her  lips  tremble  and  she  droops  her  head  like 
a  wounded  bird. 

But  only  one  moment;  then  the  pride  of  a  haughty 
spirit  comes  to  her.  She  laughs,  "  I — I  presume  there 
smother  ladies  than  us  in  Paris  this  evening.  Besides, 
sisters  don't  count."  This  is  a  stab  at  Mimi,  who 
sympathizes  with  her,  but  Jeanne,  in  her  agony  of 
wounded  pride,  hardly  knows  what  she  says. 

"Come,  let  us  go  home;  your  tremendous  triumph 
has  been  too  great  for  you,  dear  Jeanne,"  whispers 
her  protectress,  who  sees  tears  upon  the  face  of  this 
night's  victor. 

As  they  step  out  of  the  green-room  towards  the  stage 
entrance,  in  front  of  which  Madame  la  Marquise's  car- 
riage is  drawn  up,  Lanty  brushes  past  them  with  glow- 
ing eyes  and  excited  mien,  followed  by  two  or  three 
men. 

"  Lanty,  why  is  my  brother  not  here  ?  "  calls  Mimi  to 
him  imperiously. 

"Faix, "  answers  Lanty,  with  jovial  ease,  "it's 
because  I'm  afeard  Monsieur  d'Arnac  has  got  work 
that's  more  to  his  liking  this  night,"  and  goes  hurriedly 
away  to  the  property  room,  where  they  can  hear  him  in 
great  dispute  with  the  guardian  of  the  theatre's  stock  of 
weapons  for  stage  warfare. 

' '  Work  better  to  his  liking  this  night, "  thinks  Jeanne, 
and  her  steps  become  the  stalk  of  a  tragedienne  as  she 
accompanies  Madame  la  Marquise  to  her  carriage  and 
enters  the  equipage  in  haughty  silence. 

"  Home,"  mutters  Mimi  to  her  footman,  and  the 
carriage  drives  off,  Madame  de  Chateaubrien  very  sav- 
age at  the  slight  her  brother  has  put  upon  this  young 
lady  who  sits  with  quivering  lips  and  restless  feet  at  her 
side. 

But  as  the  equipage  turns  on  to  the  Rue  des  Fosses 
Saint  Germain,  Mimi  suddenly  screams:  "They  are 
fighting  in  front  of  the  theatre!"  for  the  noise  of 
desperate  combat  is  wafted  to  her  ears. 


250  A     PklXCKSS     01     PARIS. 

But  she  has  no  chance  to  look.  Just  as  she  says 
this,  little  Jeanne,  with  a  cry  soft  as  a  swan's  dying 
note,  drops  limp  and  helpless  upon  her  in  sudden 
swoon. 

Looking  at  the  pale  face  and  drawn  lips  of  the  great 
artiste  who  is  suffering  in  her  lap  Madame  la  Marquise 
mutters  to  herself :  "This  brother  of  mine  has  a  very 
careless — yes,  a  very  cruel  heart!" 

But  Raymond  is  not  so  bad  a  fellow  as  Mimi  credits 
him  with  being. 

D'Arnac,  elbowing  his  way  in  the  great  crowd  to  get 
near  the  stage  entrance,  after  the  fall  of  the  curtain, 
has  been  stopped  by  military  discipline. 

He  has  nearly  reached  the  door  leading  to  the  stage ;  in 
another  moment  he  will  be  upon  it,  greeting  and  making 
happy  little  Jeanne  Quinault,  when  Lanty,  forcing  his 
way  through  the  throng,  gets  alongside  of  him  and 
whispers  in  his  ear:  "  The  Marechal  wants  to  see  ye  in 
his  box  again." 

"Tell  Monsieur  de  Villars  I'll  be  back  in  a  moment." 

"  He  wants  to  see  ye  NOW.  He  said  '  order  him  to 
report  to  me  on  the  instant!  '  Faix  I  think  from  the 
appearance  of  the  old  gintleman,  it's  a  matter  of  life  and 
death.  He  looked  like  he  did  at  the  fight  at  Denain." 

"Very  well!  come  with  me,"  returns  D'Arnac,  guess- 
ing the  matter  must  be  very  serious  from  Lanty's 
excited  manner. 

"I'd  like  to,  but  I've  other  duties  to  do,"  whispers 
his  servant.  "  I'm  ordered  to  get  together,  as  quickly 
as  p'ossible,  all  the  Regiment  of  Alsace  I  can  gather  up, 
and  any  officers  I  may  put  me  hands  on." 

With  this  Lanty  forces  his  way  out  of  the  foyer, 
trampling  upon  the  trains  of  the  few  ladies  now  going 
out,  with  reckless  disregard  of  silks  and  laces,  for  the 
last  of  the  audience  is  just  leaving  the  theatre. 

A  moment  after,  Raymond  is  in  the  box  of  Monsieur 
de  Villars,  who  is  seated  alone,  a  little  tremble  of 
excitement  in  his  old  hands,  but  the  fire  of  battle  in  his 
eyes. 

"Would  you  like  another  little  brush  with  the  enemy, 
my  boy  general  ?  "  whispers  the  Marechal  of  France. 

"Anything  that  you  order,  my  chief,"  answers  Ray- 
mond, saluting. 


A      PRINCKSS     ol       PARIS.  251 

"Well  then,  to  you  I  confide  the  safety, this  evening, 
of  Monsieur  Lass,  the  friend  of  the  army — the  friend  of 
the  Regent." 

"  Sapnsti !  what  do  you  mean?"  asks  D'Arnac 
astounded. 

"It  is  a  delicate  little  affair.  Therefore  I  have  given 
it  into  your  hands.  I  have  learned  within  the  last  five 
minutes,  by  this  note  just  given  to  me,  and  signed 
"  A  Friend  of  the  Army,"  that  Monsreur  Lass,  as  he 
drives  home  alone  in  his  carriage,  is  to  be  arrested  by 
order  of  the  Parliament,  and  that  they  intend  to 
hang  him  within  ten  minutes  after  he  gets  into  their 
hands." 

"  Diable  !  "  mutters  D'Arnac.      "  But  the   Regent  ?  " 

"  The  Regent  has  gone  away.  Monsieur  Lass  is 
there  alone  in  his  box.  I  have  warned  him  not  to  leave 
it  for  the  present,  until  Lanty  can  get  some  of  the  men 
together.  Lass  has  seen  that  our  soldiers  received  pay, 
when  no  one  else  would  look  to  their  interests.  We 
must  look  to  our  financier's  safety  now  that  this  infernal 
Parliament  (which  is  ready  to  take  away  the  privileges 
of  royalty)  has  decided  that  its  first  blow  shall  fall  upon 
the  man  who  has  given  France  prosperity  under  the 
Regent.  This  note  states  that  there  are  three  details  of 
Exempts  and  Police  to  make  the  arrest.  Twenty 
immediately  outside  the  theatre,  twenty  on  the  Pont 
Neuf  and  twenty  stationed  outside  Lass'  house  in 
the  Place  Louis  le  Grand.  You  must  get  Monsieur  Lass 
safely  to  the  Palais  Royal.  They  will  not  dare  to  enter 
the  palace  of  the  Regent.  These  are  my  orders!  The 
details  I  leave  to  you." 

"You  may  depend  on  me !  Monsieur  Lass  shall  not  be 
arrested,"  replies  Raymond. 

"Come — I  will  introduce  you  to  him,"  whispers  De 
Villars. 

So  they  step  over  through  the  empty  theatre,  and 
for  the  first  time  D'Arnac  meets  Uncle  johnny  face  u> 
face. 

"  You  have  made  the  arrangements  ?  "  he  says  to  the 
Duke,  a  slight  tremble  in  his  thin  lips,  for  he  knows  once 
in  the  prison  of  the  Conciergerie,  he  will  be  hung  up 
like  a  dog  within  five  minutes,  long  before  the  troops  of 
the  Due  d'Orleans  can  batter  down  its  massive  gatss. 


252  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

This  combat  had  been  coming  on  between  Parliament 
and  the  Regent  for  some  months,  but  this  coup  d'etat  is  an 
unexpected  step  in  the  contest.  It  is  the  plan  of  De  Mesme, 
their  chief  president,  and  it  has  all  the  greater  chance  of 
success  for  Parliament  will  not  be  in  full  session  for  two 
more  days — consequently  it  is  unlocked  for. 

"I  entrust  your  safety  to  Monsieur  le  General 
d'Arnac, "  remarks  De  Villars.  "With  him  I  know 
you  are  safe,  if  courage  and  conduct  can  save  you. " 

"lam  pleased  to  meet  you,  General,"  replies  the 
financier,  though  he  opens  his  eyes  a  little  at  the  name, 
and  looks  searchingly,  almost  cloubtingly,  for  one 
moment,  at  the  young  man. 

"  I'll  have  everything  safe  for  you  in  three  minutes," 
replies  Raymond,  "  as  soon  as  Lanty  gets  the  men." 

A  moment  after  the  Irishman  comes  in  upon  them. 
He  stares  horribly  at  the  financier,  and  his  appearance 
does  not  seem  to  make  that  gentleman  over-confident, 
as  De  Villars  says :  ' '  Into  the  hands  of  these  men,  whom 
you  can  trust,  I  place  you !  " 

' '  Tare-an-ages !  It's  Uncle  Johnny !  "  mutters  Lanty, 
looking  with  evil  eyes  upon  the  gentleman  confided  to 
his  charge. 

But  Raymond  whispers  to  him:  "Military  duty — 
obey  me !  Are  the  men  ready  ?  " 

And  Lanty,  from  force  of  military  habit,  saluting, 
says:  "Yes,  General." 

"  How  many  ?  " 

"•Thirty." 

"Good  fighters?" 

"  Veterans,  every  one.  I  picked  'em  up  fighting  dr.unk 
in  the  wine  shop  around  the  corner." 

"  Are  they  sober  enough  to  obey  orders  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  God  help  the  men  opposed  to  them!  " 

"  Are  they  armed  ?  " 

"Only  with  bayonets,  but  we  broke  open  the  prop- 
erty room  of  the  theatre,  and  I  have  given  out  all  the 
Grecian  spears  I  could  find,  and  be  jabbers  I've  got  the 
sword  of  Theseus  to  fight  with  meself !  "  mutters  Lanty 
with  a  grin.  "  Here's  a  blunderbuss  for  you,  which 
aia't  been  loaded  since  Richelieu,  but  it  will  do  to 
frighten. 'em  with.  Its  bark  is  worse  than  its  bitej  " 

"  Did  you  find  any  officers  ?  " 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  253 

"  Yes,  De  Soubise,  De  Rohan  and  Lenoir  are 
waiting  outside  for  you.  I  told  them  the  Marechal 
commanded  it." 

"Do  you  think  we  could  get  him  out  by  the  stage 
entrance  without  their  knowing?" 

"  No.   They've  two  spies  there  to  give  the  alarm  !  " 

"Very  well!"  replies  Raymond,  and  turning  to 
Monsieur  Lass,  he  says:  "If  you  will  step  into  the 
foyer  so  you  can  enter  the  carriage  quickly,  I  think  I 
can  arrange  the  affair." 

"  What  are  your  plans  ?"  asks  De  Villars. 

"  First,  to  bring  on  a  fight  with  the  police  in  front  of 
the  theatre.  Whip  them  before  they  can  obtain  rein- 
forcements. Then  put  Monsieur  Lass  in  his  carriage, 
myself  riding  by  the  coachman,  and  drive,  avoiding  the 
Pont  Neuf  and  his  house,  straight  to  the  Palais  Royal. 
It  is  merely  a  matter  of  time;  if  we  can  dispose  of  the 
police  outside  before  they  receive  reinforcements." 

But  to  succeed  in  this  he  must  act  quickly. 

Hurriedly  telling  Lanty  to  get  his  forces  and  attack 
the  police  in  the  rear,  as  soon  as  he  sees  them  engaged 
in  front,  Raymond  comes  quickly  down  to  the  entrance 
of  the  theatre,  and  there  finds  the  three  young  officers 
to  whom  he  explains  the  affair,  and  who  are  very  eager 
to  draw  swords  in  defense  of  Monsieur  Lass,  who  has 
given  them  their  pay,  and  the  Regent,  who  will  give 
them  their  promotion. 

Then  Raymond  steps  out  upon  the  street. 

In  front  of  the  theatre  are  lounging  about  twenty 
agents  de  Ville — some  in  uniform — others  in  citizens' 
clothes — but  all  apparently  armed. 

Monsieur  Lass'  equipage,  which  is  immediately  in 
front  of  that  of  the  Due  de  Villars,  is  drawn  up  some 
ten  steps  away  from  the  entrance  of  the  theatre,  its 
coachman  apparently  asleep  on  the  box,  and  its  foot- 
men lounging  about  the  entrance. 

The  gendarmes  will  evidently  not  move  till  I. ass 
comes  out  to  his  carriage. 

The  combat  must  be  brought  on  at  once. 

Raymond  docs  so.  He  steps  up  to  the  forem»M 
sergeant  de  Ville  (one  whom  he  thinks  the  leader)  and 
promptly,  without  a  word  of  warning,  knocks  him  down 
with  his  fist. 


254  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

Then,  as  the  man  lies  groveling,  he  hisses: 
"  Canaille,  clear  the  way  for  an  officer  of  the  army!  " 

But  the  canaille  do  not  clear  the  way! 

With  an  awful  curse,  the  gendarme  springs  up  and 
cries  to  his  men  to  arrest  this  ruffian ! 

But  that  is  not  so  easy.  D'Arnac's  blade  has  flashed 
from  its  scabbard,  and  De  Soubise,  De  Rohan  and 
Lenoir  have  run  out  beside  him,  drawing  their  swords 
as  they  come  on. 

The  four  form,  as  if  on  parade,  barring  the  entrance 
of  the  theatre. 

"That's  the  scoundrel  who  struck  me!"  cries  the 
leader  of  the  gendarmes,  pain  making  him  oblivious 
of  the  fact  that  the  blow  was  simply  to  bring,on  attack. 
"Arrest  him!" 

Then  the  fight  commences. 

The  police  think  they  will  have  an  easy  matter  of  it, 
but  they  do  not;  for  there  are  three  good  swordsmen 
opposed  to  them,  and  one  a  master  of  every  art  of 
fence,  the  finest  swordsman  in  France,  perchance  in 
Europe — Gaston  Lenoir! 

Even  as  he  fights,  Raymond  can't  help  noticing  the 
beautiful  play  of  this  gentleman,  as  he  stands  by  his 
side,  keeping  two  exempts  armed  with  sabres,  and  a 
sergeant  of  police  with  his  partisan,  not  only  at  bay 
but  very  busy. 

"  Pardi  !  "  laughs  Lenoir,  as  he  springs  at  and  spits 
the  sergeant,  "I  have  had  no  real  play  for  my  Toledo 
now  for  months!  " 

But  this  combat  will  not  last  long.  De  Soubise, 
though  he  has  wounded  one  of  the  police,  has  received 
a  blow  that  has  dazed  him;  Raymond  has  a  slight 
scratch  on  his  left  arm,  and  numbers  would  conquer  in 
the  end. 

But  just  at  this  moment,  with  a  wild,  half  drunken 
yell,  the  thirty  veterans  of  the  Regiment  of  Alsace 
come  into  the  street,  from  around' the  corner,  headed 
by  Lanty,  and  fall  upon  the  rear  of  the  amazed  and 
astonished  officiers  de  Ville. 

"God  forgive  the  police,  for  we  won't!"  shouts 
Lanty.  And  though  his  sword  of  Theseus  is  dull,  he 
uses  it  as  a  club,  flooring-  an  unfortunate  gendarme. 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  255 

With  this  they  make  very  short  work  of  the  police, 
driving  them  up  and  down  the  street,  and  scattering 
them  everywhere. 

"Now  is  our  time!"  says  Raymond,  and  orders  up 
the  carriage  of  Monsieur  Lass,  but  the  coachman  seems 
to  be  dazed. 

"  Wake  up,  or  I'll  blow  your  brains  out!"  cries 
D'Arnac,  and  the  sight  of  his  blunderbuss  arouses  the 
coachman. 

The  carriage  is  drawn  up,  and  wringing  Monsieur  de 
Villars'  hand,  and  thanking  him,  the  financier  is  put 
into  it,  D'Arnac  mounts  the  box  alongside  of  the 
coachman,  Lanty  and  the  big  Sergeant  Le  Bceuf  of  the 
regiment  (who  is  still  waving  its  banner  with  little 
Quinault's  name  upon  it)  take  the  place  of  the  footmen, 
Lenoir  and  De  Rohan  spring  into  the  carriage,  and  off 
they  drive. 

"  Fast!  "  whispers  D'Arnac  to  the  coachman. 

"  Pardieu  !  do  you  want  to  kill  the  beasts  ?  " 

"Faster!"  cries  Raymond,  and  they  fly  along  the 
Rue  Dauphin,  towards  the  Pont  Neuf;  but  arriving 
there  Raymond  says:  "Along  the  Quai  Conti,  cross 
by  the  Pont  Royal  !  " 

"The  other  is  the  easiest  and  quickest  bridge!"  mut- 
ters the  man. 

"Obey  me,  or  out  go  your  brains,  and  I  drive 
myself!  "  and  Raymond  has  the  property  blunderbuss  of 
the  Theatre  Francaisat  the  head  of  the  affrighted  cocker. 

He  remembers  there  are  twenty  policemen  in  waiting 
for  Monsieur  Lass  upon  the  bridge  the  man  would  drive 
across,  and  altogether  from  the  conduct  of  the  coach- 
man, suspects  him. 

The  property  blunderbuss  is  potent.  They  fly  along 
the  Quai  Conti,  and  cross  the  river  by  the  Pont  Royal, 
and  so  on,  by  one  or  two  roundabout  streets,  till  they 
reach  the  Palace  of  the  Regent. 

So  Monsieur  Lass,  arriving  at  the  Palais  Royal, 
comes  in  with  his  peculiar  body  of  attendants,  and 
brings  astonishment  to  the  potentate  of  France. 

As  the  financier  is  announced  the  Regent  sends  word 
by  one  of  his  gentlemen  in  waiting  to  admit  him,  and 
before  selection  can  be  made  of  his  attendants  they  all 
crowd  into  the  supper  room  of  Monsieur  d'Orlrans. 


256-  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

For  these  entertainments  are  of  so  promiscuous 
a  character  that  the  lackeys  having  orders  to  admit  the 
party  do  not  feel  sure  in  refusing  any  one. 

So  Raymond  comes  in  because  he  has  promised  the 
Due  de  Villars  to  deliver  Monsieur  Lass  safe  to  the 
Regent;  Lenoir  and  De  Rohan  because  they  want 
Monsieur  d'Orleans  to  know  that  they  are  his  very  good 
friends  and  zealous  oificers ;  Le  Bceuf  because  he  thinks 
there  may  be  drink  money  for  him  in  the  affair,  and 
Lanty,  because  he  has  made  up  his  mind  to  make 
personal  appeal  to  Uncle  Johnny  for  some  of  Dillon's 
diamonds  of  the  Turk. 

On  seeing  this  heterogeneous  following  of  his  financier 
D'Orleans  springs  up  from  the  supper  table,  crying: 
"  Diable  !  What  have  we  here  ?  ' 

And  one  or  two  of  the  fair  ones  at  his  board  arise 
with  little  cries  of  fear,  for  the  appearance  of  the  whole 
party  gives  evidence  of  savage  fray. 

"Only  my  friends,  and  I  believe  your  obedient 
servants,  who  have  saved  me  from  the  police  of  Parlia- 
ment to  return  me  safe  to  your  Highness!  "  replies  Lass, 
and,  telling  his  story-  he  introduces  the  three  officers  to 
the  Regent,  ' '  Uncle  Johnny  "  having  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  De  Rohan  and  Lenoir  as  they  have  driven  along. 

"  My  duty  both  to  your  Highness  and  the  Marechal  de 
Villars  being  accomplished,  if  you  will  permit  me  I'll 
take  my  leave,''  remarks  Raymond. 

"  I  see  you  have  a  scratch  that  needs  looking  after," 
returns  D'Orleans  heartily,  "  so  you  have  my  permis- 
sion. But  I  shall  not  forget  you,  General  d'Arnac!" 

As  Raymond  goes  out  he  hears  the  Regent  thanking 
Lenoir  and  De  Rohan  for  their  action. 

"And  you,  my  fine  fellows, "  laughs  the  Prince  looking 
at  Lanty  and  the  sergeant,  "  you  did  your  share  of  the 
fighting,  I  presume  ?  " 

"Yes,  your  Highness,  if  killing  a  policeman  is  what 
you  mean, "  says  Le  Boeuf  bluntly ;  at  which  the  fair  ones 
about  the  table  who  have  regained  their  spirits,  go  into 
giggles  of  glee. 

"  That's  your  duty.  Sergeant,  always  remember  kill- 
ing policemen  is  your  duty!"  guffaw's  De  Conti, 
"  Monsieur  Lass  has  a  generous  purse.  What's  your 
head  rate  for  dead  sergeants  de  Ville,  man  cher  Jean  ?  " 


A      I'KINCKSS     OK     1'ARIS.  257 

"A  thousand  livres  /"  laughs  the  financier  who  has  a 
very  open  pocket-book  for  those  who  serve  him,  and  he 
hands  a  bank  bill  to  the  soldier  that  makes  his  martial 
eyes  open.  Then  Lass  continues:  "Here  are  ten 
thousand  more  for  the  common  soldiers  who  aided  me. 
Will  you  be  my  almoner,  Monsieur  Lenoir  ?  "  passing  the 
money  to  that  gentleman. 

But  as  he  does  this  the  banker  grows  pale,  for  he  hears 
the  too  well  remembered  voice  of  Lanty  speaking  to  the 
Regent  of  France,  who  is  screaming  with  laughter  at  the 
Irishman's  account  of  fighting  the  gendarmes  with  the 
property  weapons  of  the  Coniedif  Fran$aise. 

Mr.  Lanty  is  also  proudly  exhibiting  to  his  Highness 
the  sword  of  Theseus. 

"  Bedad! :>  he  remarks,  "  I  did  as  much  damage  with 
it  as  if  it  had  been  the  real  thing!  " 

"  Here  is  your  thousand  Itircs,  my  good  fellow !  "  cries 
Lass,  interposing  quickly,  for  he  fears  Lanty's  glib 
tongue  may  make  some  awful  confidence  about  la  Sabran. 

"Yes,  that's  very  good  in  its  way,"  replies  the  Irish- 
man, "but  it's  the  diamonds  of  the  gineral  I  came  to 
ask  you  about,  Uncle  Johnny." 

"The  diamonds — of  the  general!  What's  this — a 
new  story  ?  "  laughs  D'Orleans. 

"Yes,  and  a  divilish  intertaining  one!"  answers 
Lanty. 

But  he  doesn't  get  farther  for  the  financier  suddenly 
ejaculates: 

"  Oh  yes — those  in  my  charge — I  understand — 
To-morrow  at  my  bank!"  and  fairly  hustles  Lanty 
to  the  door,  whispering:  "To-morrow  at  twelve, 
remember." 

"  Divil  doubt  I'll  forget!"  jeers  the  Irishman,  and 
goes  away  cogitating:  "  If  I  had  told  the  Regent  I'd 
have  made  an  awful  mess,  but  got  nothing  but  hate  and 
curses  from  any  of  them.  Now  as  I've  still  "the  seen  t, 
I  think  I'll  make  Uncle  Johnny  come  down  handsome." 

The  sudden  entry  of  the  Prince  de  Conde"  and 
Monsieur  le  Marquis  d'Argenson  fortunately  keeps  his 
Highness  from  asking  Lass  inconvenient  questions, 
for  ever  since  he  has  heard  the  news  of  this  step  of 
Parliament,  the  Regent  has  been  making  his  arrange- 
ments, and  his  friends  and  confidantes  have  been  sum- 


258  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

moned  and  a  company  of  Musquetaires  Noirs  are  on  guard 
in   front  of  the  palace. 

A  moment  after  the  supper  party  breaks  up,  Monsieur 
d'Orleans  and  his  confederates  go  into  council — for  the 
attitude  of  the  deputies  of  the  people  is  a  very  serious 
question  for  them  to  consider. 

Going  over  the  matter  as  they  sit  about  him,  the 
Regent  concludes:  "We  must  make  veiy  short  work 
of  this  canaille  Parliament,  and  their  backer,  that 
bastard,  the  Due  du  Maine!  " 

"It's  that  accursed  president  of  their's,  that  villain, 
Jean  Antoine  de  Mesme!"  growls  Conti,  savagely, 
"  who's  doing  his  bidding!  " 

"Let  me  at  them!"  whispers  D'Argenson,  who 
remembers  the  insults  they  have  put  upon  him  as  Lieu- 
tenant de  Police.  "  Let  me  at  them  with  the  seals  of 
France  in  my  hands,  and  the  King  upon  his  throne, 
and  we'll  crush  them  to  the  earth." 

And  so  they  do! 

And  in  the  course  of  the  next  two  months.  Monsieur 
Law  remaining  under  the  protection  of  D'Orleans  in 
the  Palais  Royal  itself,  the  Regent  and  his  gang  fall 
upon  the  representatives  of  the  people. 

Though  on  June  27th,  Parliament  sends  a  remon- 
strance, and  on  July  2d,  the  deputies  go  to  D'Orleans 
in  person,  and  on  August  i2th,  issue  a  decree 
declaring  that  the  administration  of  finance  is  to  be  in 
the  hands  of  Parliament,  taking  from  the  Regent  and 
Monsieur  Law  all  power  over  the  taxes  of  France,  and 
demanding  an  accounting  of  all  the  billets  d'etat  issued 
and  given  to  the  Mississippi  and  Western  companies, 
as  well  as  those  taken  to  the  mint  to  be  exchanged 
for  specie, — all  these  come  to  naught! 

The  Regent  and  his  clique,  De  Conti,  De  Conde, 
Saint-Simon,  D'Argenson  and  all  his  backing,  fall  upon 
Parliament,  threaten  them  with  lettres  de  cachet  and  to 
lock  them  up  in  the  Bastille.  Finally,  bringing  the 
child,  Louis  XV.,  into  their  session,  D'Argenson,  as 
Keeper  of  the  Seals,  tells  them  the  King  wants  to  be 
obeyed,  and  to  be  obeyed  quickly! 

Then  D'Orleans  kindly  informs  the  deputies  what  are 
the  King's  commands,  and  though  their  chief  president 
gnashes  his  teeth,  they  obey  very  quickly,  and  rescind 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  259 

their  bill  taking  from  the  Regent  financial  power,  and 
acquiesce  in  his  appointment  of  Law  as  comptroller- 
general  of  all  the  finances  of  France,  and  he  becomes  a 
grandee  of  the  Kingdom,  and  is  addressed  humbly  as 
Monseigntur, 

Then  the  country  grows  apparently  more  prosperous 
and  richer  than  ever,  and  the  people  cry  with  wild  huzzas : 
"  Long  live  the  King  and  Monseigneur  Lass!  " 

The  Due  du  Maine  has  his  titles  taken  from  him  and 
is  imprisoned,  and  Lass  and  his  system  reigns  supreme. 

The  stockbrokers  in  the  Rue  Quincampoix  cry 
louder  and  louder,  and  the  shares  of  the  India  Company 
become  more  and  more  valuable,  until  finally  they 
reach  par  about  the  middle  of  the  year  1719. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

THE    WATER    FETE    AT    MARSEILLES. 

BUT  Raymond  does  not  remain  in  Paris  to  see  all 
this. 

Coming  back  from  his  interview  with  the  Regent,  he 
makes  his  way  to  the  Hotel  de  Chateaubrien,  and  there 
is  received  for  a  moment  but  indifferently  well. 

Madame  la  Marquise  strides  up  to  him  as  he  enters 
the  salon  and  whispers:  "  You  cruel  one!  You  have 
stabbed  her  to  the  heart!  " 

"How?" 

"By  indifference." 

"  Does  this  look  like  indifference  ? "  remarks  Raymond 
glumly,,  exhibiting  his  wounded  arm,  and  showing  his 
battered  uniform. 

"  You  were  wounded  for  her  !  "  gasps  Mimi  excitedly. 
"  Some  fight  with  those  awful  critics  ?  " 

"  Sapristi /  "  answers  D'Arnac,  with  a  mocking 
laugh.  "Though  critics'  pens  cut  deep,  this  is  not 
exactly  a  wound  of  their  making,"  and  gives  his  sister  a 
rapid  history  of  the  affair.  Then  he  suddenly  says: 
"  Where's  Jeanne  ?  " 

"In  her  room.  She  wouldn't — "  but  Mimi  checks 
herself.  She  does  not  care  for  her  brother  to  know  how 
deeply  her  young  protegee  has  been  affected.  She  goes 


260  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

on  suddenly:  "I  will  run  up  and  tell  her.  I'm  sure 
she'll  be  happy  to  understand  she  did  not  miss  your 
congratulations  by  willful  neglect." 

"Very  well,"  says  Raymond,  "  while  you  make  my 
apologies  to  la  Phedre,  I'll  help  myself  to  supper.  By- 
the-bye,"  he  calls  after  Mimi,  "if  you  have  some  old 
linen  in  the  house,  bring  it  back  with  you.  I  think 
a  bandage  would  rather  improve  my  arm." 

With  this  he  walks  into  the  dining-room,  to  find  the 
supper  table  decorated  en  fete,  and  undisturbed  in  all  its 
flowers  and  menu. 

" Diable !  What  delicate  appetites  we  ladies  have," 
he  laughs,  not  guessing  that  Jeanne,  from  wounded 
pride,  and  Mimi,  from  intense  indignation,  had  forgotten 
to  eat. 

Sitting  down  to  this,  and  making  himself,  with  the 
assistance  of  butlei  and  attendant  flunkeys,  very 
comfortable  and  happy,  Monsieur  d'Arnac  in  five 
minutes  finds  two  ministering  angels  at  his  side. 

For  Mimi  has  made  his  peace  with  Jeanne,  and  the 
two  have  come  bounding  down  to  him,  bearing  armfuls 
of  softest  linen  to  save  the  wounded  warrior's  life. 

Little  Quinault  is  a  sylph  as  she  flutters  around  him 
with  pathetic  hands.  In  her  haste  to  come  to  the 
assistance  of  the  dying  hero,  she  has  hastily  thrown  on 
an  exquisite  neglige  that  is  all  lace,  furbelows  and 
ribbons,  and  makes  her  look  as  ethereal  as  the  butterfly 
Phedre,  that  had  died  upon  the  stage  an  hour  before. 

"  To  think,  Mimi,"  cries  the  girl,  "while  we  were 
saying  he  neglected  us,  he  was  fighting  one  hundred 
awful  policemen,  under  the  orders  of  grandpapa  De 
Villars,  and  saving  the  life  of  Monsieur  Lass,  who  has 
made  every  one  in  France  so  rich  and  happy,  and  who 
has  hinted  he  would  make  my  fortune,  if  I  would  put 
my  salary  upon  the  Bourse.  By-the-bye,  what  is  my 
salary,  Monsieur  Raymond?" 

"Nothing!"  remarks  that  young  gentleman  hur- 
riedly. 

"Nothing?"  scream  both  the  ladies  in  commercial 
horror. 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  Jeanne,  when  I  made  the 
arrangement  for  you,  I  forgot  about  it.  No  sum  was 
mentioned,"  mutters  Raymond  sheepishly. 


\       I'KIM    ESS      HI-       PARIS.  26l 

"Brava!"  ejaculates  Mimi,  who  has  been  forced  to 
become  a  business  woman  in  the  management  of  her 
estate.  "  Brava!  no  contract — name  what  you  please — 
they'll  have  to  pay  it  now !  Raymond,  they  must  not 
have  her  cheap!  " 

"No,"  answers  the  young  man,  "for  little  Jeanne  I 
will  become  as  greedy  as  a  contractor." 

But  business  is  soon  forgotten  in  bandaging  the 
wounded  warrior's  arm.  They  make  it  almost  a  caress- 
ing business.  With  two  such  nurses  the  young  general 
revives  sufficiently  to  eat  a  very  pleasant  meal,  and 
curiously  enough,  appetite  has  also  come  to  little  Quin- 
ault  and  Madame  la  Marquise. 

There  is  no  happier  trio  in  Paris  this  night,  as  they 
sit  together  and  talk  over  their  plans  for  the  coming 
star  in  the  great  dramatic  world. 

"You  must  have  your  own  salon  and  establishment, 
Jeanne;  a  great  actress  should  always  have  a  salon. 
Raymond  will  arrange  for  a  handsome  suite  of  apart- 
ments for  you,  and  I  will  furnish  you  a  duenna." 

"Do  with  me  what  you  like,"  remarks  la  Quinault, 
"only  don't — don't  turn  your  backs  upon  me."  Here 
tears  come  into  her  eyes  and  she  begs:  "  Don't  think 
I  am  strong  enough  to  fight  my  own  battle  without 
your  love,  your  friendship,  Mimi — and  your  far-seeing 
brain,  guardian  general,  to  guide  me!"  This  last  a  little 
archly. 

Then,  as  the  young  man  is  taking  his  leave,  she 
suddenly  courtesies  to  him,  takes  his  hand  and  kisses  it 
as  she  did  when  a  child,  and  whispers:  "Mon  Seigneur , 
this  triumph  of  mine  has  made  no  difference  between 
us — I  am  still  your  vassal !  " 

This  kind  of  thing  makes  Mimi  tremble.  She  breaks 
in,  saying:  "Nonsense,  Jeanne!  You  have  now  a 
great  career  before  you !  " 

"But  I  am  still  under  vassalage  to  the  man  who  has 
placed  it  before  me  by  his  kindness,  his  influence,  and 
his  generosity.  The  higher  1  am,  the  humbler  I  shall 
make  obeisance  to  Monsieur  le  Comte  d'Arnac — Man 
Seigneur!" 

And  the  coming  great  star  in  the  dramatic  liniiaiiK-nt 
gives  the  young  general  a  glance  that  sends  him  away 
very  proud  and  very  important  and  very  protecting  to 


262  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

this   beautiful    creature    who    places   herself    so    much 
under  his  wing. 

But  Raymond  is  fated  to  see  very  little  of  the  imme- 
diate glories  of  la  Quinault. 

The  day  after  her  debut  he  receives  notice  of  his 
appointment  to  the  command  of  the  great  port  of 
Marseilles. 

This  is  a  tremendous  step  for  a  young  officer,  for  it 
practically  gives  him  the  rank  of  a  lieutenant-general 
with  emoluments  and  fees  that  produce  a  very  fine 
professional  income. 

This  sudden  luck  has  been  owing  to  Uncle  Johnny, 
who,  wishing  to  do  the  young  man  a  favoi ,  yet  fearing  to 
have  him  in  Paris  on  account  of  various  matters 
connected  with  the  volatile  mistress  of  the  Regent,  thinks 
this  is  the  best  way  to  settle  the  affair,  and  has  peti- 
tioned the  Due  d'Orleans  to  that  effect. 

It  would  be  madness  to  refuse.  Raymond  accepts 
at  once,  and  four  days  after  departs  for  Marseilles. 

In  doing  this  he  leaves  Lanty  behind  him,  for  that 
gentleman  has  made  his  bargain  with  the  financier  and 
has  received  as  compromise  for  the  diamonds  of  the 
Turk  (of  which  the  avaricious  la  Sabran  will  not  yield 
a  single  one)  a  piece  of  property  which  is  now  quite 
valuable,  and  as  real  estate  is  rising  rapidly,  promises 
to  make  him  very  comfortable  in  the  world. 

With  the  title  deeds  to  this  in  his  pocket,  Lanty 
decides  to'  give  up  soldiering  and  turn  innkeeper. 

"Faix,  I'm  tired  of  taking  plunder  and  playing  the 
game  of  '  light  come — quick  go! '  "  he  remarks  to  Ray-' 
rnond.  "  If  ye  will  honor  me  by  sending  any  friends 
of  yours  from  Marseilles  to  the  tavern  of  '  The  Turk's 
Head,'  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  Petit  Lion  and  Rue 
St.  Denis,  I'll  pray  for  you  whenever  I  go  on  my  knees." 

Which  will  not  be  often,  as  Lanty,  after  the  manner 
of  most  soldiers,  is  a  very  bad  churchman. 

But  before  D'Arnac  departs,  one  little  interview  with 
la  Quinault  takes  place,  and  impresses  itself  upon  his 
memory. 

She  is  already  in  her  own  apartments  on  the  Rue  de 
Conde  quite  near  the  theatre.  She  has  had  another 
appearance  and  an  equally  great  triumph,  and  D'Arnac 
has  made  a  very  good  arrangement  for  her  with  the 


A     I'KINCKSS     (iF     PARIS.  263 


management  of  the  Couu-'Jic  FranC'iise.    In  a  few  months 
she  will  become  a  societal)  t\ 

She  says  pathetically:  "You  have  your  walk  in  life 
—  I  have  mine  now  —  this  separates  us,  but  not  for  long, 
I  hope.  But  here  —  here  is  something  by  which  you  can 
remember  the  little  Quinault,  the  naughty  girl  for  whom 
you  have  done  so  much!  " 

This  something  is  a  miniature  of  her  own  fair  face  on 
ivory  set  round  with  pearls;  not  perhaps  as  gorgeously 
beautiful  as  the  one  he  still  has  of  la  Sabran,  with  its 
flashing  diamonds  —  but  oh,  how  much  sweeter  woman- 
hood there  is  in  it  ! 

"  When  you  hear  of  my.  triumphs,  if  I  ever  have  any 
more,"  she  murmurs,  "look  at  this  picture,  and  think  it 
is  all  owing  to  your  goodness  to  me  !  And  so,  good-bye, 
Man  Seigneur  !  " 

Then  says,  hysterically:  "I  —  I  must  not  sob,  for  lam 
studying  a  —  a  comedy  role,"  and  cries,  vivaciously: 
"What  do  you  think  "of  that?  I  am  to  make  people 
laugh  !  Do  you  hear  me  ?  Laugh  !  Ha  !  ha  !  Ho  !  ho  !  He  ! 
he!  "  and,  with  a  giggle  on  her  dear  little  mouth  anda  tear 
in  her  bright,  blue  eyes,  Mademoiselle  Jeanne  bids 
her  guardian  good-bye. 

"It  isthe  best  thing  in  the  world  forhim,"  thinks  Mimi, 
as  she  gives  Raymond  her  adieu  kiss,  for  la  Marquise  is 
growing  fearful  of  Mademoiselle  Quinault's  praise,  which 
is  being  sung  every  where,  and  imagines  it  just  as  well  that 
her  brother  should  not  have  too  much  of  it. 

So  Raymond  takes  his  departure  for  Marseilles,  leav- 
ing behind  him  Paris,  which  is  growing  greater  and 
richer  every  day,  with  its  increasing  commerce,  its 
excited  stock  market,  and  the  tremendous  financial 
operations  of  Monseigneur  Law,  that  seem  to  scatter 
paper  money  all  over  the  land,  making  it  rich. 

l;or  now  gradually  developing  itself,  his  great 
commercial  schemes  of  colonization  and  settlement 
in  both  the  Indies  and  the  new  world  comes  to  the 
fore. 

Early  in  1719  a  decree,  goes  forth  from  the  Regent 
giving  the  India  Company  the  sole  right  of  trading 
in  all  seas  beyond  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  which  means 
all  the  East  Indies,  the  islands  of  Madagascar  and 
France,  and  tin-  Archipelago  of  the  Indian  Ocean. 


264  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

In  addition  to  this,  the  bank  of  Monseigneur  Law  is 
reorganized  and  made  the  Royal  Bank  of  France,  with  one 
hundred  and  ten  million  livres  of  capital,  and  that  great 
financier  puts  out  his  lines  to  draw  into  his  companies 
and  schemes  all  the  great  trading  interests  of  France. 

It  is  with  these  great  views  of  interesting  the  general 
public  of  France  and  impressing  upon  them  the  grand- 
eur of  his  scheme  of  colonial  settlement  and  develop- 
ment that  Monseigneur  Law,  under  the  sanction  and  by 
the  aid  of  the  Regent,  proposes  the  great  water  fete  at 
Marseilles. 

It  is  to  be  the  welcome  of  the  grand  fleet  bearing  the 
first  great  shipment  for  the  year  of  the  products  of 
Louisiana  to  France.  It  has  been  heralded  through 
the  country  by  word  of  mouth  and  by  official  announce- 
ment, and  Paris  is  all  agog  for  the  wonders  of  the  New 
World  that  the  India  Company  is  opening  to  it. 

It  is  rumored  on  the  Rue  Quincampoix  among  the 
brokers,  who  are  already  becoming  very  rich  in  dealing 
in  this  new  stock  that  Monseigneur  Law  is  touching  with 
the  hand  of  Midas,  that  there  is  to  be  gold  from  the 
mines  of  Louisiana  among  the  shipments.  The  grand 
dames  of  Versailles  and  the  Faubourgs  St.  Honore  and 
Saint  Germain  are  all  eagerly  petitioning  the  financier 
for  promises  '  of  handsome  little  pickaninny  Indians, 
to  be  decked  out  with  their  armorial  bearings  and 
serve  as  pages,  carrying  their  trains  and  fans  and  para- 
sols, and,  by  contrasting  bronze,  make  the  lilies  of  the 
fair  ones'  cheeks  seem  doubly  beauteous,  for  it  is  whis- 
pered there  is  a  whole  tribe  of  the  savages  of  the  Missis- 
sippi on  board  the  coming  squadron. 

This  fleet  is  expected  about  the  first  of  June  of  the 
year  1719,  and  preparations  are  being  made  to  receive 
it  in  a  way  that  shall  impress  not  only  France,  but 
Europe  itself,  with  the  grandeur  and  immensity  of  the 
riches  the  New  World  is  about  to  throw  into  the  lap  of 
the  India  Company. 

This  is  the  idea  of  Monsiegneur  Law,  who,  in  some 
things,  is  quite  theatrical. 

The  necessary  orders  having  been  issued,  Raymond 
d'Arnac,  as  commandant  of  the  port  of  Marseilles,  finds 
himself  very  busy  in  carrying  them  out  and  making  the 
necessary  local  arrangements,  for  a  couple  of  extra 


A     PRINCKSS     OF     PARIS.  265 

regiments  have  been  ordered  to  the  place  to  give  addi- 
tional military  grandeur  to  the  scene,  and  a  squadron  of 
galleys  and  frigates  have  come  from  the  great  naval 
arsenal  of  Toulon. 

Deputations  from  the  merchants  of  Lyons,  and  even 
Havre,  have  come  to  meet  this  first  shipment  of  the 
products  of  the  new  land,  whose  distance  gives  it  a 
fabled  wealth. 

Now,  Monseigneur  Lass  has  altogether  too  long  a  head 
to  make  any  mistakes  of  time,  even  in  a  theatrical  fete. 

He  has  received  news  by  quick  felucca  that  the 
squadron  of  ships  bearing  the  products  of  Louisiana 
has  passed  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar,  and  has  made  his 
arrangements  as  to  date  of  reception  accordingly. 

He  is  journeying  to  the  Mediterranean  by  quick 
relays  of  post  horses,  followed  by  a  goodly  number  of 
the  court  of  France  and  leading  financiers  of  the  city 
of  Paris,  for  he  has  put  money  into  the  pockets  of 
many  of  them — both  nobles  and  commoners.  In 
his  personal  party,  even  De  Conti  does  not  hesitate, 
notwithstanding  his  pride  of  rank,  to  travel.  The 
Prince  de  Conde  and  the  Marechal  de  Noailles  are  with 
him,  and  among  the  beauties  in  their  company  are  the 
pretty  Marquise  de  Prie,  the  sylph-like  Madame  de 
Verue,  and  the  vivacious  Locmaria;  but  the  loveliness 
of  none  is  to  be  compared  with  that  of  la  Princess 
de  Paris. 

Monsieur  d'Orleans,  being  of  too  easy-going  and 
lazy  a  disposition  to  trouble  himself  with  any  such  long 
journey,  has  delegated  the  Prince  de  Conde  to 
represent  him,  and  has  given  permission,  grudgingly 
perchance,  to  the  beautiful  De  Sabran  to  grace  with  her 
presence  this  fete  that  is  to  be  semi-royal  at  least  in 
magnificence. 

Cousin  Charlie  would  make  one  of  the  party,  for  his 
avaricious  soul  is  glowing  with  the  thought  of  all  the 
money  that  will  come  to  him  from  the  success  of  their 
grand  enterprise,  but  his  rickety  old  bones  cannot 
endure  a  journey  to  the  Mediterranean  by  post  chaise. 
"  Five  hundred  miles,"  lie  siyhs;  " parJien  .'  that  is  too 
much  for  even  a  boy  like  me,  to  view  the  wonders  of 
the  West.  Sapristi  !  but  it  is  at  this  end,  in  Paris,  that 
the  money  will  flow  in!  " 


266  A      PK1XCKSS     OK      PARIS. 

On  this  journey,  the  second  day  after  they  have 
passed  Aries  on  the  river  Rhone,  a  courier,  riding  for 
his  life,  reaches  Monseigneur  Lass  and  his  party,  bring- 
ing news  that  the  fleet  have  already  been  sighted  from 
Cape  Morgion. 

Plying  whip  and  spur,  on  this  joyful  communication, 
they  reach  Marseilles,  to  find  that  the  fleet  have 
anchored  outside  the  islands  of  Ratoneau  and  Pomegue  ; 
they  having  been  boarded  by  the  orders  of  Monseigneur 
Law  and  told  not  to  enter  the  harbor  until  everything 
was  prepared  for  their  reception. 

So  the  sailors  on  their  decks,  after  their  six  months' 
voyage,  sit  waiting  for  the  next  day  and  whistling  for  a 
breeze  to  put  them  once  more  on  the  shore  of  their 
native  France,  and  in  the  arms  of  their  friends  and 
sweethearts,  who  are  awaiting  them  on  the  platform  of 
the  Fort  St.  John  and  gazing  at  them  from  the  more 
distant  Cape  Corisande. 

The  town  of  Marseilles  is  wildly  excited  over  the 
coming  fortunes  that  this  new  commerce  from  Louisiana 
will  bring  to  their  docks  to  make  them  rich,  for  at  the 
suggestion  of  Monseigneur  Lass,  the  Regent  is  about 
to  make  the  city  a  free  port. 

Entering  the  town  rather  late  in  the  evening,  the 
great  financier  finds  most  of  the  nobility  have  arrived 
before  him. 

He  is  received,  in  company  with  the  Prince  de  Conde 
and  his  party,  by  General  d'Arnac  as  commandant  of  the 
garrison,  the  Mayor  of  the  city  and  various  local 
officials. 

He  gives  Raymond  his  hand  warmly,  for  this  Scotch- 
man is  a  great  diplomatist,  and  believes  in  making 
every  one  he  can  his  friend.  Besides,  Uncle  Johnny, 
remembering  D'Arnac  had  practically  saved  his  neck  that 
night  at  the  Francais,  forgets  for  one  short  moment  the 
part  this  dashing  general  of  twenty-six  has  played 
in  the  life  of  Madame  de  Sabran. 

He  is  reminded  of  this,  however,  by  the  beauty's 
greeting  to  the  handsome  young  officer. 

She  has  not  forgotten,  and  as  she  looks  on  Raymond's 
distinguished  face  and  easy  martial  bearing,  she  has  said 
to  herself:  "  The  cup  that  has  been  twice  dashed  from 
my  lips  shall  be  at  last  placed  there.  This  man,  from 


A     PRINCESS     <)K     I'ARIS.  267 

whose  arms  fortune  has  twice  stolen  me,  shall  yet  be 
mine !  " 

She  forgets  the  slight  of  the  theatre — she  remembers 
only  the  boy  who  swam  th'j  flooded  river  for  her 
sake — who  said:  "Will  you  dare  it  forme?" — whose 
heart  her's  has  once  beaten  against  so  wildly — who 
she  had  seen  fight  for  her,  one  to  six,  that  day  near 
Mieux. 

If  Raymond  has  grown  more  handsome,  she  perchance 
has  become  more  fascinating,  for  her  experience  in  the 
social  world  has  made  her  bright  intellect  even  more 
vivacious.  Perhaps  this  meeting  with  the  man  she 
has  often  said  to  herself  is  still  the  man  of  her  heart, 
adds  to  her  arch  loveliness. 

The  other  ladies  of  this  gay  company  look  worn,  pale 
and  dusty,  after  their  long  drive  of  over  five  hundred 
miles  from  Paris  But  she,  shaking  coquettishly  the  dust 
of  the  Rhone  Valley  from  her  pretty  traveling  costume, 
and  displaying  a  foot  and  ankle  that  poor  O  Brien  Dillon 
used  to  rave  about,  is  fresh  and  radiant,  and  apparently 
untired. 

This  evening  Hilda  finds  chance  for  very  few  words 
with  D'Arnac,  but  these  are  to  the  point. 

She  says  lightly:  "Oh,  if  I  had  known  you  were 
here,  Monsieur  Raymond,  I  should  have  put  on  a  new 
toilette  after  my  ride;  but  to-morrow  I  hope  to  do 
honor  to  the  fete.  To-mo  row,  I  am  told,  we  have  a 
very  beautiful  pavilion  prepared  for  us  on  the  Isle 
Pome^ue  I  presume  music  and  a  dance.  You,  I 
hope,  will  be  one  of  our  guests." 

"  If  my  official  duties  permit,"  answers  the  young  man, 
dubiously,  struggling  with  all  his  might  against  the 
fascination  of  her  manner,  and  something  in  his  heart 
that  makes  it  beat  again  as  it  did  at  the  bal  de  I' Opera. 

"Official  duty  will  compel  you  to  be  there,  as  Gen- 
eral Commandant,"  she  says  haughtily.  Then  her  tone 
suddenly  changes,  for  she  notes  that  though  his 
words  are  curt,  perhaps  harsh,  his  eyes  arc  speaking 
very  tenderly.  She  says  pathetically:  "Not  as  com- 
mandant of  the  forces  but  as  Raymond  d'Arnac,  who 
has  hardly  been  kind  to  me  since  In-  was  once  so 
very  kind — that  morning  at  Mieux.  Let  us  forget  tin- 
four  years  that  have  passed  between  that  time  and 


268  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

this.     They  are  no  more!     To-morrow  morning  let  it 
be  as  if  Mieux  was  to-day." 

This,  emphasized  with  beauteous  eyes  and  an  entreat- 
ing hand  that  is  extended  to  him — patrician  in  its  deli- 
cacy of  outline — makes  her  irresistible. 

Raymond  remembers  also  that  morning  at  Mieux,  and 
says  eagerly:  "Then  to-morrow  we  commence  as  if 
Monsieur  de  Conti's  ruffians —  '  he  glares  savagely 
at  that  Prince,  who  is  pompously  addressing  the  Mayor 
of  the  town — "had  not  stolen  you  from  me !  " 

It  is  a  daring  speech,  but  De  Sabran  likes  ardor  and 
audacity.  She  whispers  one  word  into  his  ear,  that 
makes  the  young  man  tremble  with  a  sudden  passion — and 
as  he  turns  to  go  upon  his  official  duties,  Raymond  d' Arnac 
would  not  exchange  places  with  any  man  in  France. 

It  is  just  as  well  he  leaves  her,  for  at  this  moment, 
Uncle  Johnny,  who  has  been  watching  them  surrepti- 
tiously out  of  one  of  his  eyes,  the  other  being  devoted 
to  a  deputation  of  the  Marseilles  merchants,  succeeds 
in  breaking  away  from  his  surroundings,  and  is  edging 
towards  naughty  De  Sabran  with  the  intention  of  cut- 
ting short  her  tete-a-tete  with  General  d' Arnac,  whom  he 
recollects  now — TOO  WELL! 

Until  early  morning  Raymond  is  occupied  in  making 
the  necessary  dispositions — civil,  military  and  naval — for 
the  celebration  of  which  he  has  supreme  command. 

These  being  finished,  he  gets  a  few  hours'  sleep, 
and  arises,  refreshed,  vigorous,  and  as  he  thinks  of  the 
word  whispered  in  his  ear  the  evening  before — elated 
and  exultant.  He  says  to  himself,  his  eyes  lighting  up 
the  fires  of  passion :  ' '  To-day — to-day — she  whom  I 
love  is  mine !  " 

For  like  most  young  men  D'Arnac  called  passion, 
love  and  fleeting  desire  undying  devotion. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"  TOGETHER! " 

AFTER  a  hasty  breakfast  the  young  commandant, 
whistling  one  of  Lulli's  happiest  airs,  saunters  down  to 
the  main  port  or  basin,  and  walks  along  the  Quai, 
looking  at  the  shipping  decked  with  bunting  in  honor 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  269 

of  tne  occasion,  more  elated  than  Mcuiseigneur  Lass 
himself. 

The  day  is  warm  and  sultry  even  for  Marseilles  in 
June,  surrounding-  hills  keeping  away  all  breezes  that 
might  give  comfort  under  the  blazing  sun.  The  white 
walls  glare,  unmitigated  by  the  green  of  the  vineyards 
on  the  hillside,  for  the  vine  leaves  are  covered  over  with 
their  summer  dust.  There  is  no  sea  breeze ;  all  is  quiet 
and  placid  and  burning  on  the  harbor  of  Marseilles. 

Floating  upon  the  waters  of  the  tideless  Mediter- 
ranean that  scarcely  ripples,  are  five  galleys  in  the  King's 
service  that  have  come  from  Toulon,  rowed  hither  by 
the  wretched  slaves  they  call  formats.  These,  decked 
with  bunting,  and  two  or  three  frigates  of  France, 
made  also  picturesque  by  the  flags  of  all  nations 
displayed  from  lofty  masts  and  tapering  yards,  make  the 
naval  portion  of  the  pageant. 

The  heavy  frigates,  driven  only  by  the  winds  of 
heaven,  cannot  move  in  the  still  air.  The  light  galleys, 
propelled  by  the  arms  of  men,  must  do  all  the  work  of 
conveying  the  semi-regal  party  to  the  Isle  of  Pom  gue, 
and  towing  thereafter  the  ships  from  Louisiana  into 
the  basin  of  the  port. 

Soon  word  is  brought  Raymond  by  his  orderly  that 
Monseigneur  Lass  and  the  Prince  de  Conde"  are  anxious 
to  proceed  with  the  affair. 

They  are  desirous  of  getting  through  the  ceremony 
of  the  reception  as  soon  as  possible,  so  as  to  journey 
to  the  little  island  that  looks  so  cool,  surrounded  by 
the  blue  sea,  where  pavilions  have  been  erected,  and  a 
fete  fit  for  the  gods  will  be  held. 

On  this  isle  the  semi-regal  party  will  spend  the  night, 
sleeping  apartments  having  been  erected  and  deco- 
rated especially  for  their  accommodation  by  the  order  of 
Monseigneur  Lass. 

The  military  are  drawn  up,  the  Mayor  reads  the 
proclamation  of  the  Regent  making  the  port  free  of  duties, 
from  the  steps  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  right  opposite  the 
Quai.  The  populace,  decked  in  the  light  costumes  of 
summer,  make  all  the  borders  of  the  basin  of  Marseilles 
brilliant  with  moving  life.  The  cannons  thunder  from 
the  Forts  St.  Michel  and  St.  John  and  the  frigates  and 
galleys  in  the  harbor. 


270  A     P-RINCESS     OF     P-ARIS. 

The  frigates  remain  motionless.  No  breeze  is  rippling 
the  water"  to  permit  their  spreading  sail. 

The  galleys,  propelled  by  human  force — the  steam- 
boats of  that  day — dash  about  from  quai  to  quai,  picking 
up  the  various  divisions  of  the  guests  assigned  to  them 
to  take  them  first  to  the  Isle  Pomegue;  then  to  escort 
and,  if  necessary,  tow  the  ships  from  the  New  World  in 
triumph  past  that  island  and  into  the  basin  of  the 
harbor. 

One  of  these  galleys,  La  Sylphide,  is  detailed  for 
the  personal  use  of  Monseigneur  Law  and  his  semi- 
regal  party. 

It  has  been  especially  decorated  for  the  occasion,  and 
floats  the  water  graceful  as  a  beautiful  bird.  Its  two 
short  masts,  with  their  long  lateen  yards,  are  made 
bright  with  the  colors  of  all  nations.  Its  high  fore- 
castle, on  which  are  mounted  several  culverins  and 
short  light  cannons  for  salute  and  offense,  and  its  prow 
ornamented  by  some  dragon's  head,  the  work  of  that 
great  naval  designer,  Le  Puget,  have  been  freshly  gilded 
for  the  occasion. 

Its  poop  cabins  have  been  decorated  in  blue  and  gold, 
and  over  them  waves  a  canopy  of  tapestries  woven  in 
the  looms  of  Lyons,  with  the  arms  of  France.  Above 
this  floats  a  great  white  silken  banner,  bearing  the 
royal  fleur  de  lys. 

In  the  eyes  of  the  admiring  multitude  she  looks  fair 
enough  to  have  come  from  fairyland ;  but  between  this 
gilded  forecastle  and  this  high  poop  decorated  with  deli- 
cate silks  and  satins  that  make  awnings  under  which 
beautiful  women  will  lounge  in  softly  cushioned  chairs, 
bent  over  by  gallant  men,  happy,  triumphant,  pros- 
perous— is  the  long  low  waist,  ONE  HUNDRED  FEET  OF 
LIVING  HELL;  peopled  by  wretches  that  have  no  hope  in 
this  world,  nor  the  next — the  galley  slaves! 

Driven  by  fifty  oars,  twenty-five  on  each  side,  she 
skims  the  basin  like  a  thing  of  life — but  oh,  the  agony 
of  flesh  and  blood  that  produces  this  graceful  velocity — 
this  birdlike  agility.  Three  hundred  formats,  red  caps 
and  camisoles  upon  them,  but  practically  almost  as 
nude  as  the  day  they  were  born — curse  and  sweat 
under  the  lashes  of  the  stalwart  boatswain  and  his  cruel 
mates. 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  271 

Through  the  dead  center  of  the  craft,  extending  from 
decorated  poop  to  gilded  forecastle,  is  a  plank  some 
two  feet  wide  occupied  generally  by  the  comitt,  or  boat- 
swain, and  his  agile  assistants,  who  use  it  for  their 
convenience  in  running  about  and  urging  with  swishing 
lash  the  naked  shoulders  of  the  slaves — to  greater  toil 
and  harder  exercise. 

Each  of  the  ponderous  oars,  fifty  feet  long,  thirteen 
feet  of  which  is  inboard,  is  driven  by  the  exertions  of  six 
wretches,  whose  sinews  have  become  of  steel,  and  whose 
muscles  have  become  of  iron,  under  the  relentless  toil 
of  the  galley. 

Each  individual  wretch  is  chained  to  his  bench,  on 
which  he  toils  till  he  dies  and  is  thrown  overboard,  by 
one  iron  circlet  round  the  waist,  another  round  an 
ankle. 

Thus  they  row,  sleep  and  die;  in  winter  covered,  if 
the  night  is  cold  and  the  galley  is  at  anchor,  by  a  few 
rugs  to  keep  them  from  freezing  to  death. 

Three  work  sitting,  the  other  half  of  them  nearer  the 
extremity  of  the  spar,  toil  standing;  all  pushing  the  oar 
forward,  its  blade  out  of  water,  to  the  length  of  their 
tether,  and  then  throwing  themselves  backward  upon 
the  seat,  which  rebounds  with  their  concussion — the 
work  of  giants  given  to  the  bodies  of  wretches  whose 
rations  are  but  poor,  scant  and  irregular. 

Moved  by  this  force  of  agony,  La  Sylphide,  her 
guns  booming,  her  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  free 
soldiecs  and  sailors  cheering,  her  officers  laughing  and 
saluting,  her  boatswain's  lashes  hissing  merrily,  dashes 
up  to  the  Quai  to  receive  the  Princes  De  Conti  and  De 
Conde",  Monseigneur  Lass,  Financier-General  of  the 
Kingdom  of  France,  and  their  surrounding  sycophants 
and  beauties. 

Among  them  is  Hilda  de  Sabran,  more  lovely  perchance 
than  ever  she  has  been  in  her  life,  for  the  costume  of 
summer  suits  her  graceful,  willowy  form,  and  she  has 
been  decked  by  the  greatest  milliner  in  France  for  this 
fete  and  pageant. 

She  is  laughing,  happy,  triumphant,  radiant — for  is  he 
not  here,  standing  by  the  side  of  the  gang  plank,  and 
offering  gallant  hand  to  pass  IKT  on  to  the  galley's  poop  ? 
And  she  is  whispering  in  his  ear:  "  Raymond,  the  fete! 


272  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

Remember — THIS  NIGHT  NAUGHT  SHALL  STAND  BETWEEN 

THY  HEART  AND  MINE." 

They  are  all  on  board.  Her  delicate  hand,  decked  in 
lightest  glove,  is  waving  D'Arnac  adieu,  and  surrounding 
her  in  attitudes  of  grace  are  the  fair  women  and  brave 
men  of  France,  laughing  and  chatting  and  loving. 

The  captain  of  the  galley,  the  dashing  Comte  de 
Chateau  Rouge,  gives  signal  to  the  comite,  and  cries: 
"Speed  there!  Give  the  slaves  the  measure! " 

The  boatswain's  pipe  whistles  cheerily,  and  his  savage 
mates,  anxious  to  show  their  skill,  ply- rattan  and  whip 
over  the  bending  backs  of  the  sweating  formats  that 
struggle  with  the  oars  to  make  the  galley  fly  over  the 
harbor  of  Marseilles. 

Outside  on  the  blue  sea,  the  vessels  from  Louisiana, 
favored  by  a  little  wind,  are  now  coming  up.  So  La 
Sylphide  heads  straight  for  the  temporary  landing 
place  that  has  been  erected  and  beautified  upon  the  fair 
shores  of  the  island  Pomegue. 

But  as  they  dance  over  the  waves  one  of  the  other 
galleys,  which  has  an  ambitious  captain,  nearly  overtak- 
ing them,  the  volatile  little  Marquise  de  Prie  cries,  clap- 
ping tiny  hands  together:  "  Oh,  we  shall  have  a  race! 
Captain — a  race — a  race  if  you  love  me!  " 

And  the  Comte  de  Chateau  Rouge,  wishing  to  find 
favor  in  the  eyes  of  his  fair  guests,  and  proud  that  La 
Sylphide  is  the  swiftest  in  the  fleet,  commands  the  comite: 
"  More  speed!  Tonn..de  Dieu!  the  formats  lag  to-day!" 

With  this  the  boatswain  quickens  the  stroke,  whips 
are  plied  on  laggard  backs,  and  moans  come  up  from 
the  formats. 

The  other  galley  increases  her  velocity  as  well,  and  is 
now  nearly  alongside. 

"O-o-ugh — Captain!  don't  let  them  beat  us!  "  cries 
la  Sabran,  who  has  grown  interested  in  the  affair. 
"  Haven't  you  the  quickest  galley  of  them  all  ?  " 

These  words  from  the  favorite  of  the  Regent  and  the 
beauty  of  France  excite  De  Chateau  Rouge  to  greater 
efforts.  He  goes  forward  and  orders:  "Increase  the 
measure,  quick ! " 

Which  the  boatswain  does,  ////  the  stroke  is  that  of  a 
galley  in  action,  when  slaves  drop  dead  from  horrible 
exertion. 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  273 

The  ladies  clap  their  hands  and  cry  joyously:  "  We're 
gaining!"  "Row,  Captain,  row!"  "We've  gloves 
wagered!"  and  other  little  ejaculations  of  feminine 
delight. 

De  Chateau  Rouge  says  to  the  comitt  again:  "Increase 
the  measure!" 

And  now  the  foam  is  flying  from  the  galley's  beak, 
and  the  great  panting  breaths  of  the  struggling  formats 
in  the  waist,  come  up  in  heaves,  and  the  lash  is  plied 
by  ambitious  boatswain's  mates,  till  groans  and  curses 
and  screams  roll  up  as  if  from  Tartarus. 

"  Oh,  we're  doing  beautifully  now,  Captain ! "  cries  De 
Sabran,  springing  from  her  seat.  "We're  gaining — 
we're  gaining — we're  winning!" 

And  tripping  forward  with  two  light  steps,  she  takes 
stand  on  the  foremost  plank  of  the  poop  deck. 

Her  pretty  little  hat  sits  jauntily  upon  her  delicate 
head,  her  blue  eyes  are  blue  as  the  sea  on  which  she 
looks.  Her  fair  hair  is  gilded  by  the  sun;  her  lips  are 
red  as  the  coral  that  is  coming  from  the  Indies.  Her 
dress,  light  as  the  gossamer  of  fairyland,  is  studded 
with  sparkling  jewels.  Upon  her  head  blazes  the  great 
crescent  of  the  Ottoman,  with  its  lesser  star.  One 
perfect  foot  is  perched  in  silken  hose  and  dainty  slip- 
per upon  the  low  rail,  and  gathering  from  it  with  one 
deft  hand  her  shimmering  skirts,  the  other  waving  an 
excited  parasol  all  lace  and  ribbons,  she  stands — the 
goddess  of  beauty  triumphant  over  Hades. 

And  just  at  this  moment  the  sunbeams  light  the  great 
crescent  of  the  Ottoman  Vizier,  with  its  lesser  star,  and 
the  diamonds  of  the  Turk  gleam  and  flash  in  the  very 
faces  of  the  struggling  galley  slaves. 

Suddenly  over  the  moans  of  suffering  toil  and  the 
quick  gasps  for  mighty  breath  taken  in  their  awful 
travail,  over  the  swift  swish  of  the  flying  lash,  over  the 
screams  of  writhing  wretches  whose  shoulders  drip  with 
blood — comes  up  one  shriek  more  potent  than  the  rest 
— one  scream  so  shrill,  wierd  and  unearthly  that  it 
seems  the  first  shriek  of  a  lost  soul  let  loose  in  hell. 

With  a  shudder,  for  Hilda  has  feminine  nerves,  the 
beauty  of  the  Regent  puts  both  little  hands  to  her  ears 
and  runs  back  to  the  stern,  where  she  sinks  upon  a 
lounge  and  tries  to  forget  this  awful  cry,  meditating  on 


274  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

the  coming  night,  and  Raymond;  though  De 
Guiche  is  whispering  in  her  fair  ears  the  latest  bons  mots 
of  Paris,  and  trying  very  gallantly  to  entertain  the 
goddess  of  the  fete. 

This  scream  is  little  thought  of  by  the  others, 
ladies  or  gentlemen,  officers  or  sailors;  though  the 
boatswain  whispers  to  one  of  his  mates:  "To-day  has 
given  us  another  maniac  at  the  oar!  " 

But  this  is  a  common  occurrence.  Creatures  go  mad 
upon  their  benches,  and  row  as  madmen  till  death 
comes  to  them,  for  they  are  not  released.  The 
maniac's  strength  is  even  greater  than  that  of  the 
despairing  wretches  who  work  beside  him. 

So  naught  answers  this  awful  cry,  save  that  the 
lashes  fall  quicker  as  the  comite  gives  increased  speed 
to  the  measure  that  each  oar  must  keep  in  perfect  time 
and  cadence,  no  matter  how  quick  the  stroke,  for  one 
oar  out  of  time,  the  rest  become  disorganized — disabled. 
Dead  men  must  row  when  the  galley  is  in  motion. 

Monseigneur  Lass,  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  on  the 
poopdeck  and  in  the  cabin,  are  all  chatting  very 
merrily. 

The  financier  remarks  to  the  Prince  de  Conti:  "The 
scene  is  beautiful,  and  the  sun  is  not  so  very  hot!  " 

For  there  is  an  awning  over  his  head,  and  he  is  in 
quite  an  affable  humor. 

Even  now  they  are  rowing  past  the  vessels  of  the 
Mississippi  fleet. 

The  ladies  clap  their  hands  as  these  sail  past  them, 
making  quite  a  theatrical  effect,  for  their  captains  have 
had  instructions,  and  parrots  are  perched  upon  their 
rigging,  and  monkeys  play  among  the  shrouds,  and 
there  are  Indians  in  feathers,  wampum,  and  war  paint, 
dancing  on  their  decks;  and  strange  animals  from  the 
New  World  call  forth  cries  of  astonishment  and  admira- 
tion from  the  wondering  lips  of  lookers  on. 

One  vessel  has  its  rigging  tufted  with  the  cotton  of 
the  new  colony,  and  another  her  mastheads  surrounded 
with  the  sugar  cane  of  Louisiana. 

The  sailors  are  cheering,  and  the  pageant  looks  very 
bright,  beautiful,  and  happy,  as  La  Sylphide,  after 
inspecting  the  fleet,  dashes  for  the  pretty  isle  of 
Pomegue. 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  275 

But  now  the  wind  fails  the  ships,  and  the  galleys, 
after  delivering  the  guests  at  the  island,  dash  out,  take 
these  great  vessels  in  tow,  and  the  slaves  muse  again 
toil  at  the  oar,  for  their  day's  work  is  as  merciless  and 
hard  as  the  fete  is  successful  and  grand. 

So  the  vessels  swinging  into  the  harbor,  past  the  Fort 
St.  John,  come  up  to  the  Quai  to  be  received  by 
Raymond  d'Arnac.  There  is  great  cheering  from  the 
crowd,  for  part  of  the  cargo  of  one  of  the  ships  is  gold 
and  silver  bullion,  which  did  not  come  from  Louisiana, 
though  the  throng  do  not  know  it,  and,  perchance,  was 
taken  on  board  when  the  vessel  stopped  at  Cuba — the 
products  of  mines  in  Mexico  or  Peru. 

The  sacks  of  coffee  that  they  display  to  eager  sight- 
seers probably  come  from  the  Brazils,  though  all  is 
credited  to  this  new  land  that  is  to  make  France  rich, 
and  the  India  Company's  stock  goes  very  high  in  the 
financial  firmament. 

Though  D'Arnac  has  a  good  deal  to  do,  he  is  General 
Commandant  of  the  Port  of  Marseilles,  and  promptly 
getting  through  his  more  important  duties,  details 
the  rest  to  subordinates. 

Consequently  about  seven  in  the  evening,  as  the  great 
band  of  musicians,  brought  from  Paris  for  the  occasion, 
are  playing  the  sweetest  melodies  of  the  ballet 
entitled  "The  Loves  of  Jupiter,"  Raymond  arrives,  on 
one  of  the  galleys  plying  between  the  Quai  of 
Marseilles  and  the  Isle  Pomegue,  at  the  fete  of 
Monseigneur  Lass. 

Not  having  had  anything  to  eat  since  the  morning,  he 
makes  a  hasty  but  delightful  supper  in  one  of  the 
pavilions  of  refreshment. 

The  end  of  the  meal  is  even  more  pleasant  than  its 
beginning,  for,  with  the  instinct  of  love,  Hilda  de 
Sabran  has  found  him,  and  with  fluttering  eyes  and 
blushing  cheeks,  has  seated  herself  at  his  side,  whisper- 
ing: "  At  last  you  are  here!  " 

Then  the  young  man  grows  blushing  also,  for  she  has 
purred  in  his  ear:  "  Raymond,  my  love!  " 

Perchance  as  he  looks  in  her  eyes,  the  blue  eyes  of 
another  woman,  who  is  at  this  moment  making  the 
Francais  ring  with  plaudits  at  her  piquant  graces  and 
fascinating  emotions,  on  the  stage  of  that  great 


276  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

theatre,  come  to  him — but  these  eyes  he  looks  upon  are 
the  nearest. 

But  now  the  present  goddess  goes  to  plying  her  arts 
of  fascination  and  becomes  curiously  trembling  and 
bashful,  which  makes  her  doubly  enchanting,  as  she 
pathetically  questions:  "You  have  forgiven  me?" 

"  Forgiven  YOU  ?  " 

"  Yes, "  she  whispers,  "  that  awful  note  received  by 
O'Brien  Dillon.  You  knew;  in  your  heart  of  hearts 
you  must  have  known  it  was  addressed  to  YOU.  " 

"Was  it  for  ME  ?  "  asks  Raymond,  who  likes  to  hear 
her  supplicate,  though  he  is  very  well  aware  she  tells  the 
truth.  Then  he  gives  a  little  sigh,  not  altogether  of 
disappointment,  for  he  is  thinking  of  his  lost  comrade. 

"Oh,  cruel  one!"  falters  Hilda,  who,  gazing  on  her 
handsome  companion,  now  loves  him  with  her  very 
soul  for  the  present.  Then  she  breaks  hoarsely  forth : 
"Who  changed  the  direction  of  that  note?  What 
traitor  kept  us  apart  and  made  you  doubt  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  thought  of  the  matter  many  times,"  replies 
D'Arnac,  "but  I  cannot  guess." 

"Well,  I  can!  "  she  mutters  savagely. 

"Who  do  you  think?" 

"  Your  Cousin  Charlie." 

"Impossible!     Why  do  you  think  that?" 

"Because  Apollo,  my  negro  page,  confessed  to  my 
riding  whip  that  he  had  given  that  letter  I  wrote  you, 
my  heart  in  each  pen  stroke,  to  a  gentleman ;  and 
compelled  by  me  he  pointed  out  Monsieur  de  Moncrief 
as  the  man." 

"What  reason  could  he  have  ?  " 

"That  I  do  not  know,  but  some  day — "whispers 
Hilda,  and  her  eyes  say  that  "some  day  "  will  not  be  a 
pleasant  one  to  Charles  de  Moncrief.  But  suddenly,  as 
if  afraid  of  her  own  rage,  she  turns  the  conversation, 
and  her  glance  grows  tender  as  her  words  as  she 
murmurs:  "To-night  let  us  forget  everything  but 
ourselves! — you  and  I — my  Raymond." 

"  Yes — all  but  ourselves.  You  tyrant  of  my  heart," 
returns  D'Arnac,  who  is  romantic  now,  as  what  man 
would  not  be  with  supreme  beauty  by  his  side — that 
this  night  will  be — HIS  VERY  OWN!  the  blue  waves  of  the 
Mediterranean  sighing  at  their  feet — the  soft  moon 


A     PRINCESS     til       I'AKIS.  277 

lighting  the  eyes  of  his  adored — the  tender  music  of  Lulli 
giving  cadence  to  their  heart  beats. 

At  this  moment  even  the  mem©ry  of  O'Brien  Dillon 
stands  not  between.  Why  should  the  dead  destroy  a 
living  love  ? 

Into  this  reverie  Hilda  breaks  with  happy  laugh — she 
whispers:  "We  must  not  linger  here  too  long." 

"Why  not  ?" 

"Uncle  Johnny!"  replies  the  beauty,  tapping  her 
little  foot  playfully.  "  Beware  of  Uncle  Johnny!" 

"You  dance  this  evening?"  whispers  Raymond, 
looking  at  his  prize,  who  is  now  gleaming  under  the 
blazing  lights  of  the  parillion  de  bal. 

"  With  YOU,  if  you  wish." 

"Come  !" 

The  music  is  still  playing,  the  minuet  is  being  danced, 
and  no  more  graceful  couple  move  over  the  smooth 
floor,  and  no  happier  faces  are  under  its  bright  lights, 
than  that  of  Raymond  d'Arnac  and  Hilda  de  Sabran, 
for  one  has  thrown  away  conscience,  and  the  other 
has  no  conscience  to  throw  away — and  both  mean  to  be 
very  happy  in  the  love  that  lights  their  eyes  this  evening. 

"BUT  !  " 

This  "but"  is  Monseigneur  Lass. 

Uncle  Johnny,  notwithstanding  he  has  many  engage- 
ments with  fair  women  for  the  dance,  and  many  bits  of 
diplomatic  social  intercourse  to  make  his  standing 
stronger  with  the  nobility,  sees  a  good  deal  of  what  is 
going  on. 

And  taking  his  opportunity,  he  gets  chance  word 
with  Raymond,  welcoming  him  to  his  fete,  but  saying 
to  him:  "My  dear  young  officer,  I  am  sorry  to  put  an 
end  to  your  pleasure  this  evening,  especially  as  I  am 
your  host,  but  there  is  a  meeting  at  the  Prefecture 
to-night,  in  the  city.  The  Regent  gave  me  this 
address,"  he  produces  a  paper,  "charging  me  to 
request  the  officer  in  command,  as  his  representative, 
to  read  it  to  the  people  of  Marseilles.  It  speaks 
chiefly  of  the  new  fortifications  that  are  to  be 
erected  to  make  the  city  stronger,  as  it  is  now  to 
become  such  a  great  commercial  port.  It  is  especially 
appropriate  for  you,  as  general  of  the  garrison,  to 
read  it.  I  know  that  was  his  Highness' intention  when 


278  A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS. 

he  gave  it  to  me  at  Paris.  The  meeting  takes  place  at 
nine  o'clock.  You  will  have  plenty  of  time." 

Under  these  circumstances,  all  Raymond  can  do  is  to 
accept  the  commission,  though  he  does  so  with  by  no 
"means  the  best  grace. 

But  as  he  is  going  Hilda  is  beside  him.  She  says: 
"  I  saw  my  Uncle  Johnny  say  something  to  you.  It 
was  some  commission  that  requires  you  to  return  to  the 
city  ? " 

"Yes!  Confound  his  tricky  soul,"  mutters  D'Arna5 
in  the  agony  of  awful  disappointment,  gazing  upon  the 
fair  being  of  whom  he  is  despoiled. 

"Oh,  I  guessed  as  much.  But  we  may  balk  Uncle 
Johnny  after  all.  What  is  your  duty  in  Marseilles  ?  " 

Then  Raymond  telling  her  of  the  commission  given  to 
him,  she  whispers:  "The  meeting  takes  place  at  nine.  It 
will  be  ended  by  ten.  At  eleven  o'clock  the  ball  will  still 
be  going  on.  By  that  time  the  revelry  will  be  at  its  height, 
and  Bacchus  and  Venus  reign  supreme.  The  others  will 
be  too  occupied  in  themselves  to  miss  my  presence !  If 
you  love  me,  as  I  adore  you,  my  Raymond,"  she  goes 
on  with  entreating  eyes,  "meet  me  in  front  of  pavilion 
number  five  at  eleven  o'clock.  That  one — the  one  with 
the  blue  silk  hangings.  Remember  the  time  is  vital. 
Be  sure  the  place." 

"  At  eleven  o'clock — by  that  pavilion  our  hearts  beat 
together,"  answers  D'Arnac,  his  soul  aflame.  Then 
he  whispers  words  into  the  shell  she  calls  her  ear 
that  make  her  very  happy,  but  make  her  blush  and  run 
away. 

And  Raymond,  taking  one  of  the  galleys  that  is  still 
plying  between  the  island  and  Marseilles,  arrives  at  the 
Prefecture  in  time,  and  there  makes  a  very  glum  and 
surly  representative  of  complaisant  royalty  to  the  good 
citizens  of  the  town,  reading  the  Regent's  letter  in  a 
haughty,  hard  and  hasty  voice,  and  not  caring  very 
much  whether  any  of  it  is  understood. 

At  last  this  is  over,  and  he  flies  down  to  the  Quai  to 
utter  the  imprecations  of  disappointed  eagerness. 

Not  one  of  the  galleys  is  there.  They  are  all  at  the 
Isle  Pomegue. 

How  to  get  back  to  the  island  in  time,  where  the 
woman  he  longs  for  is  awaiting  him! 


A     PRINCESS    OF     PARIS.  279 

"  If  I  disappoint  her  now,  she  will  never  forgive  me, " 
he  moans,  scanning  with  anxious  eyes  the  port. 

Suddenly  hope  springs  up  in  him  again.  La  Sylphide 
is  coming  into  the  basin  with  sturdy  strokes,  for  fatigue 
is  not  permitted  to  interfere  with  its  human  machinery. 

As  soon  as  she  puts  off  her  passengers,  among  whom 
is  the  Prince  de  Conti,  who  has  some  engagement  in 
town,  Raymond  steps  aboard. 

The  Captain  de  Chateau  Rouge  is  at  the  fete  on  the 
island,  his  Lieutenant  Polignac  in  command,  a  man 
who  is  more  of  the  sailor  than  the  courtier. 

D'Arnac  says  hurriedly  to  him:  "Drive  the  galley 
back  to  la  Pomegue  as  fast  as  possible!  " 

"  Morbleu  !  "  dissents  the  tar,  "we  were  about  to  drop 
anchor.  We  have  rowed  from  six  o'clock  this  morning 
and  now  it  is  ten  at  night,  towing  vessels  and  taking 
passengers.  The  labor  has  been  enormous,  two  or  three 
of  the  formats  have  died.  Not  one  of  them  has  had  a  bite 
to  eat.  They  have  been  toiling  continuously." 

"  I  must  go  back  to  the  island — it  is  imperative!" 
returns  D'Arnac. 

What  are  galley  slaves  to  him,  to  delay  his  assignation 
with  impatient  beauty. 

"Give  the  orders,  Monsieur  Lieutenant,"  he  says, 
"and  to-morrow  afternoon,  if  you  will  dine  with  me,  I 
will  try  to  recompense  you  for  your  trouble  by  a  very 
excellent  meal!  " 

"Oh,  we  officers  have  had  plenty  to  eat,"  laughs 
Polignac.  "Besides,  if  we  anchor  at  the  island,  De 
Chateau  Rouge  can  come  on  board  in  the  morning,  and 
1  will  have  an  hour  or  two  at  the  dance  to-night."  He 
orders :  ' '  Coinite '.'  give  the  measure. "  "  Quartermaster, 
head  for  la  Pomegue  once  more!  " 

"Tonii  .d;  Dieu  .' "  growls  the  boatswain,  "how  many 
slaves  will  live  with  another  five  miles  to  their  credit  and 
nothing  to  eat  ?  " 

"  Blow  \.\\e  formats  .'  Give  them  the  measure  quick!  " 
answers  Polignac. 

This  is  done;  the  pipe  rings  out  again,  and  the 
boatswain's  mates  have  now  double  lashing  to  do, 
for  the  slaves  arc  so  faint  from  fatigiu-. 

As  they  pass  the  Fort  St.  John,  Raymond  looks  at 
his  watch. 


280  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

He  has  but  half  an  hour,  and  falters  to  Polignac: 
"M0n  Dieu  !  I  shall  be  late!  " 

"  You  are  in  a  hurry  ?  " 

"  Very  much!     I  must  get  there  at  eleven." 

"Order  the  comite  to  quicken  the  measure!"  cries 
the  lieutenant,  anxious  to  please  the  general  com- 
manding. 

Again  ihe  slaves  increase  their  toil,  and  now  many  of 
them  commence  to  lag  and  droop  under  the  heartbreak- 
ing," unceasing  toil  of  all  that  long,  burning  day. 

During  its  hours  no  wretch  of  them  has  tasted  food. 
But  the  plying  lash  is  on  them.  They  must  row  on — 
or  die,  or  both. 

The  moon  coming  up,  sheds  a  soft  radiance  upon  this 
scene;  on  the  toiling  flesh  and  blood  below,  on  the 
officers  on  watch,  on  eager  Comte  d'Arnac,  who  sits 
on  the  poop  staying  his  impetuosity  by  a  friendly  pipe 
and  Virginia  tobacco,  and  gazing  at  the  far-off  glimmer- 
ing lights  across  the  sea,  that  tell  where  she  is 
waiting. 

As  the  oars  swish  to  and  fro  unceasingly,  the  groans 
of  their  wretched  rowers  come  up  into  the  soft  air  of 
night,  and  their  haggard  faces,  and  bare,  sinewy  arms, 
gleam  and  flash  under  the  moonlight. 

In  one  of  these  sighs  that  come  up  to  Heaven,  part 
of  despair,  part  of  exertion,  Raymond  thinks  he  hears, 
mingled'with  its  breath,  one  little  word,  "  Together!" 

It  may  be  but  a  groan. 

At  first  he  does  not  heed  it,  and  goes  smoking  on. 

Then,  as  the  oars  flash  once  again  in  the  moonlight, 
he  hears  floating  up  on  the  sigh  of  the  slaves, 
"  TOGETHER!  " 

Something  in  the  tone  startles  him.  His  pipe  drops 
to  the  deck. 

The  boatswain  and  some  of  the  sailors  are  now  going 
about  putting  between  open,  panting  lips,  as  they  move 
in  the  cadence  of  the  swing,  pieces  of  bread  moistened 
with  sour  wine;  a  custom  not  born  of  humanity,  but 
simply  of  convenience.  If  too  many  slaves  die,  the 
galley  is  disabled. 

And  still  at  each  swing  of  the  oar,  and  each  gasping 
sigh  of  the  slaves,  there  floats  up  to  D'Arnac's  astonished 
ears,  "TOGETHER!  " 


A     PRINCESS    OF    PARIS.  281 

He  springs  to  the  COM  its  and  cries:  "  Some  bread  and 
wine  quick — I'll  help  you!" 

Then  he  passes  tremblingly  along  the  first  bank 
of  oars. 

He  finds  not  what  he  seeks,  but  shivers  as  he  looks, 
for  it  is  louder  now  and  nearer — this  word  of  the  night 
that  takes  him  back  to  Flanders  and  battle,  and  puts 
a  kind  of  desperate  hope  within  him. 

Thus  coming  to  the  second  bank,  before  the  sturdiest 
of  its  crew,  who  pulls  untired,  standing  up  with  each 
stroke,  and  swinging  back  with  a  crash  upon  the  bench, 
he  sees  a  haggard  face,  lighted  by  eyes  that  gleam  with 
what  appears  insanity,  but  is  hope  ! 

As  Raymond  presses  the  moistened  bread  upon 
this  wretches'  tongue  that  hangs  out  black  and 
parched  between  the  panting  lips,  tones  come  to  him 
that  make  him  start  with  shock  and  horror — with 
pity  and  amaze — with  agony  and  joy — for 
it  whispers:  "TOGETHER!  OH,  GOD  OF  HEAVEN! 
SAVE  ME ! " 

With  one  bound,  D'Arnac  is  on  the  poop,  screaming: 
"  Stop  rowing!  For  God's  sake,  stop!" 

"What  do  you  mean?    You'll  miss  your  appointment. " 

"  Stop  rowing!" 

"  Is  there  a  bark  ahead  of  us?  " 

"Stop  rowing!  I  order  it — I,  Commandant  of  the 
Port!  STOP  ROWING!" 

His  words  make  the  officers  jump!     The  vessel  stops. 

"Take  number  one  of  the  second  oar  out  of  his 
chains!  " 

"A  galley  slave — A/orfat?" 

"Quick!  What's  one  more  galley  slave  to  you? 
You  have  three  hundred!  I  need  one  for  shore  duty  at 
the  hospital  for  infectious  diseases.  The  last  one  died 
to-day.  Take  number  one  of  the  second  oar  out  of 
the  irons!  " 

"  But  what  the  devil  will  I  say  to  the  captain  ?  I  h •'- 
the  strongest  wretch  in  the  boat!"  replies  Polignac. 

"  I'll    explain     to     Chateau     Rouge.       BESIDES,     I 

ORDER   IT!  " 

' '  Then  it  must  be  done !  Boatswain,  order  the  armorer 
knock  off  the  irons  on  number  one  of  the  second  oar!  ' 
directs  Polignac. 


282  A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS. 

Even  while  they  are  doing  it,  O'Brien  Dillon,  no  more 
the  dashing  soldier  of  fortune,  but  a  wretch  broken  by 
toil,  staggering  and  faint,  is  in  the  arms  of  his  friend, 
and  as  the  shackles  fall  from  him,  he  is  crying  like  a 
child  and  wringing  his  hands,  and  panting. 

As  he  is  lifted  to  the  poop,  and  clothes  thrown  over 
his  nakedness-,  he  is  chattering  as  one  insane :  ' '  I  didn't 
dare  to  cry  my  name  to  you — if  you  had  not  heard — 
to-morrow  morning  the  bastinado!"  Then  he  shrieks 
out:  "  I  heard  her  voice — they  called  her  '  LaSabran.' 
Now  I  know  why  they  made  me  a  galley  slave." 

"Who  did  this  awful  thing  ?  "  shudders  Raymond. 

"  The  whole  gang  of  them,  your  Cousin  Charlie,  the 
Procureur  du  Roy." 

"  Impossible !    For  what  crime  ?  "  gasps  D'Arnac. 

"  For  being  a  wizard !  Lanty's  infernal  shot  of  the 
billiard  table!  "  moans  Dillon.  "  They  swore  I  had  the 
black  art. " 

And  he  goes  into  wild  imprecations  on  such  high 
names  that  D'Arnac  fears  he  will  be  overheard  and  gets 
him  into  the  cabin. 

Then,  for  the  galley  is  near  the  island,  Raymond 
says  to  Polignac:  "Stop  rowing!  Back  to  the 
harbor ! " 

"Why?" 

"  To  get  a  thousand  crowns  at  my  office  to-morrow 
morning,"  whispers  D'Arnac,  who  sees  he  must  have  the 
lieutenant's  aid. 

"Good!"  replies  that  officer,  and  the  vessel  swings 
round  on  water  illumined  by  the  feu  de  joie  right  in  the 
lights  of  the  festival,  the  music  of  which  comes  faintly 
over  the  waves  in  happy  cadence,  and  there  are  shouts  of 
' '  A  health  to  the  King  and  Monseigneur  Lass !  " 

At  this,  on  the  deck  of  the  galley  a  half  crazed 
creature  who  has  just  come  back  from  hades,  screams: 
"I  know  him — my  Uncle  Johnny — I  know  her — the 
mistress  of  the  Regent — the  De  Sabran !  It  was  for  this 
they  have  made  me  the  wretch  I  am !  High  though  they 
are,  God  help  them  both  when  the  galley  slave  takes  the 
revenge  of  a  devil  that  is  all  they  have  left  him  in  life!  " 

Next  he  moans:  "  Let  me  sleep!  Raymond — let  me 
sleep — but  for  God's  sake  don't  let  me  DREAM  ;  for  if  I 
dream — I  shall  DREAM  I  am  again  at  the  oar — and  in 


A     PRINCESS     OF     PARIS.  2X3 

hell !  "  then  goes  into  a  slumber  that  is  almost  as  strong 
as  death  itself. 

So  D'Arnac  sits  sighing  over — weeping  over — this 
man,  whom  other  men  have  degraded  to  the  brute. 

And  this  man's  wife  standingdraping  about  her  beauty 
the  folds  of  the  blue  curtains  of  the  pavilion  number 
five  of  Monseigneur  Lass'  fete  of  triumph,  waits — waits 
till  even  morn  has  come  again,  for  a  lover  who  does  not 
return,  and  listens  for  a  voice  she  pants  for,  yet  never 
hears.  And  finally,  turning  to  the  rising  sun  eyes  that 
burn  with  disappointed  longing  and  unquenched  desire, 
mutters:  :' It  is  laQuinault!  He  has  remembered  her, 
he  has  forgotten  me.  She  shall  repent  in  tears  and 
blood  the  insult  this  night  for  love  of  her,  Raymond — 
my  Raymond — has  put  upon  the  Princess  of  Paris!  " 


FINIS. 


THE  SEQUEL  TO  THIS  NOVEL  IS 

THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER 


JUST   OUT 


A  Complication 
in  Hearts 


A  NOVEL 

BY 

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A  COMPLICATION  IN  HEARTS 

BY  EDMUND   PENDLETON. 

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